Eyes locked on the president. We got a situation in Oak Creek. Some local thought it was a good idea to publicly disrespect Dutch's memory. A low, dangerous murmur rippled through the men. Jim handled it on the spot.
Now, the club is going to handle the follow-up. Cole laid out the plan. It was beautifully, ruthlessly legal. The psychological pressure began on Thursday. Susan hadn't slept in 2 days.
She jumped at every sound. She had called the local police department three times, demanding a patrol car sit in her driveway. The dispatcher politely informed her that bad Yelp reviews and internet meanies did not constitute a police emergency. At 2:00 a.m. on Friday, Susan heard it, a low guttural rumble, the sound of a massive V-twin engine. It started far down her quiet, manicured street.
It rolled closer, a slow, thunderous vibration that rattled the window panes in her bedroom. She crept to the window and peeled back the curtain. A single motorcycle rolled slowly past her house. The rider was dressed in black. He didn't stop.
He didn't rev the engine aggressively. He just rode past at exactly the legal speed limit of 25 mph. 10 minutes later, another bike rode past. Same speed, same low rumble. Then another.
They weren't breaking any laws. They were utilizing public roads. But the message was deafening. We know exactly where you are. We can touch you whenever we want, but we choose not to.
By Saturday, Susan was a wreck. Her eyes were bloodshot. She snapped at Greg. She felt like a prisoner in her own home. The illusion of her control was shattered.
She realized that the rules of her gated community meant absolutely nothing to men who wrote their own laws. Sunday morning arrived. The sun was shining. The neighborhood was painfully quiet. Susan couldn't take the isolation anymore.
Her pride, battered and bruised, flared up one last time. She needed to prove to herself that she wasn't defeated. She needed her routine. "I'm going to get coffee, " she told Greg, grabbing her keys. "Susan, don't, " Greg pleaded from the sofa.
"Just make it here. " "No. I have lived in this town for 20 years. I'm not going to let a bunch of thugs dictate where I can and cannot go. " She drove to the Oak Creek Roastery. The parking lot was relatively empty. She parked her Lexus, took a deep breath, and walked inside.
The barista behind the counter recognized her instantly. His eyes went wide. The few customers in the shop fell silent, staring at her. Susan ignored them. She lifted her chin, walked to the counter, and ordered her half-caf almond milk latte.