Part One NOW

The motorcycle roared beneath the big Indian as he turned off of the interstate and onto a smaller, two-lane road. The Indian saw the sign on the side of the road welcoming him to Crews Alabama. The Indian slowed and stopped the motorcycle next to the sign and surveyed the town ahead of him.

He had been riding all day, and was ready for a shower and some sleep in an air-conditioned room. He spied a motel not far up the road and eased the bike back onto the road and headed towards the motel.

Greg Brock was working nights at his father's motel while he was on summer break. It wasn't too bad; all he did was watch TV, play video games, and check in the late night travelers who stop to stay the night. Tonight was like any other night, it was now 2:00 am, and he had checked in three businessmen since he had come to work at 8:00.

Greg had long since stopped paying attention to the guests that came to check in, they all started to look alike. Unless, of course, it was a hot chick, then he definitely noticed.

When the bells on the top of the door jingled, Greg barley looked up from the TV. "Hello, welcome to Crews Motel." Greg said.

"Hi."

Greg looked up because the voice sounded odd, it was very deep. The other odd thing about the voice was how alert it was. Most people who checked in at two in the morning sounded weary and give out.

Greg looked up to see what the stranger with the baritone voice looked like. He had to crane his neck to look at the man's face from his sitting position.

This guy is seven foot if he's an inch. Greg thought.

Then Greg noticed that the man wasn't only tall, he was BIG. He was built more like a muscle-bound comic book character than a real person. Greg could see the man's muscles through his white t-shirt and brown leather jacket he wore over it. Greg also noticed that the man was what appeared to be Native American. He had dark red skin and black hair that hung over his shoulders in two big braids.

Seven foot tall and three hundred pounds of muscle. Greg thought before he realized he was staring. "Uh… hi." Greg managed to say weakly.

"I'd like a room." The big man said.

Greg snapped back to his senses. "Of course. Rate's $85 a night, check out's at 10:00."

The man nodded and fished some bills and a Texas driver's license from the front pocket of his jeans. He counted out $90 dollars to Greg and handed him the driver's license.

The name on the card was Charlie Proudstar. He even has a cool Indian name. Greg thought. Greg entered the name into the guest registry and turned to get the room key.

When he turned around the man was stretching his huge frame. The jacket rode up as he stretched. That was when Greg saw the huge knife strapped next to what looked like a stick strapped to his side.

Greg wasn't sure what to do. The man hadn't done anything threatening, but what if he's some kind of serial killer or terrorist. Greg thought. Calling the Sheriff while he's standing here probably wouldn't be very smart.

"Room 12." Greg managed to say without his voice cracking too much as he handed the man the key. The big man nodded and walked back out the door.

Greg waited until he heard the motorcycle crank up and pull around the building before he picked up the phone.

Charlie flipped on the light as he walked into motel room. He stood there for a minute surveying the small room. It was like most of the others he had been staying in. It had one king bed, a table with two chairs, a night table with an alarm clock, and a TV. Charlie dropped his duffle bag onto the floor and fell onto the bed to rest for a minute before he hit the shower.

His feet hung off of the bed, but that was nothing new. And these sheets actually smelled clean and weren't itchy, which was something of a rarity. He lay there for a few minutes before he sat up to take off his worn black combat boots. Just as he leaned down to unlace the first boot, he heard a knock at the door.

Making sure his knife and stake were still on his belt, he looked through the peephole to see who was knocking on his door at such a late hour. Through the obscured view of the peephole he saw a man in a brown uniform with a badge on.

Great, I'm in town for twenty minutes and already somebody has called the local law on the creepy Indian. Charlie thought.

Making sure that his jacket covered his weapons, Charlie opened the door. "Hello Officer, can I help you?" He said in his most pleasant voice.

The Deputy standing in front of him was a good foot and a half shorter than Charlie, but that wasn't unusual, seeing how Charlie was 7 foot 3 inches. The Deputy appeared to be in his mid-twenties, and in pretty good shape.

"Hey Chief." The Deputy said with a sneer. "We had a call of some redskin raising hell here, and seeing how you're the only one I see, I reckon you need to step outside with me."

Charlie was already angry, but he hoped if he cooperated he could go about his business and get some sleep. But if this prick doesn't simmer down I'll have to show him what a Chief really is. Charlie thought.

He stepped outside with the Deputy into the humid night. The smaller man motioned towards the wall and said; "Spread 'em."

"Honestly Officer," Charlie replied in a calm voice, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think there must be some mistake, I just got into town."

"Is that so?" That Deputy queried, pulling his nightstick from its ring on his belt. "If I recall, I just gave you a lawful command, and you failed to follow that lawful command."

The smaller man swung the black nightstick with all his might, striking Charlie on the side of his left knee. The man then looked at Charlie with something of a mixture between shock and a little bit of fear, as Charlie didn't wince or budge at the blow.

"Now that," Charlie said, letting a little bit of the anger that was building up inside him seep into his voice. "was uncalled for. I'll let that one slide. But if you're going to do it again I would call for back up."

The Deputy stumbled for words for a second, and then drew his sidearm as quickly as he could and pointed it at the center of the big man's chest. "On the wall now!" Screamed the Deputy.

Charlie just sneered at the smaller man and took a step closer to him. "If you don't point that thing somewhere besides at my chest, you'll really wish you'd have called that back up I was talking about."

The Deputy grabbed the mic on his shoulder as soon as he realized that he had not called for backup. "105 to dispatch, I need 10-94 at my 20, repeat 10-94." The man almost screamed into the shoulder mic.

"10-4 105, 103, 104 10-20?" Came a female voice from the speaker on the mic.

"103 dispatch we're 51 from 663." Came a male voice from the speaker, engine noise and a siren could be heard in the background.

"On the ground now!" Shouted the smaller man, who looked more angry than afraid now.

Charlie didn't budge, just looked the man in the eye, trying to unnerve him. It looked like it was working, the Deputy's hands were shaking from the death-grip he had on his pistol.

In the blink of an eye, Charlie stepped to the side and grabbed the man's arm with one hand and the pistol with the other. He ripped the pistol from the other man's hand and turned his arm around his back as he used his free hand to envelope the Deputy in a one-armed bear hug.

"Now listen." Charlie said into the Deputies ear. "I don't know what your malfunction is, but I haven't done anything to warrant your attention since I've been here, but you seem intent on harassing me."

Charlie started walking towards the patrol car, carrying the Deputy in one arm. "So, here's what we're going to do." Charlie continued on his way to the car. "I'm going to 'cuff you and sit you into the back seat of your car, and then I'm going to leave town."

Two hours later, all three of the Crews County Deputies were sitting around their squad room, two of them were laughing and one of them was not.

"I'm glad I could entertain you idiots." Said Deputy Carl Simons as he stretched his now sore arm. "I'm telling you, this guy was some kind of wrestler or something, biggest damn guy I've ever seen."

One of the other Deputies, Dave Thompson, stood up and puffed out his chest. "Me big Indian, me treat puny white man like butt monkey."

Carl sneered at Dave and replied, "I'd have like to seen you try and take this guy down. He didn't even flinch when I tried to break his damn knee cap!"

The other laughing Deputy, Sean Franks, chimed in; "I might not could have whooped him, but he damn sure wouldn't have took my weapon and put me in the back of my own friggin car."

Before Carl could reply, the telephone rang. They were waiting for a wanted check on the Indian to come back. "Crews County Sheriff's Office, Deputy Simons." Carl answered.

"Yes, this is Agent Finn with the Federal Wildlife Bureau." Came a mans voice on the other end of the connection.