“There's something you don’t see everyday; A Cop shaking a Bikers Hand.”

Chpt Wild Horses

         Cont... what happened to him.

The buses next stop was a change over, and we were required to gather our luggage and wait in the terminal. James and I were pretty close by then and still wound up sitting next to each other. I saw some of our new passengers in the terminal among the hustle and bustle of the Gray hound holiday schedule. A family unit was joining our bus a mother and her adolescent daughter and young son. I noticed the way this young girl was acting was too mature for her age. We all got on the next bus and the family sat in the row in front of us. The boy and his mother on the left side of the bus and the teenage girl on the right side, and after a while a young man sits down in front of me boxing the teenage girl against the window. My red flags went up and I said to my self, “This guys either a pervert or he is just going to teach the girl what is appropriate in way of teasing and playful flirting.” I pointed at the two of them and looked at James while I shrugged my shoulders. He responded in kind with his own gesture of non-committal. It was late and we soon all fell asleep for we had been waiting in the terminal for some time. I have a sort of alarm system that wakes me when something is wrong. I know to keep quiet when this alarm goes off, quiet, still, and just to listen. Only two people were awake on the bus, the man in front of me and the teenage girl.  In this case I was awoke in time to hear this, “No, stop, please,” in barely a whisper. In one motion I reached over the seat with my left hand and grabbed the man by his hair while my other hand with knife enclosed circled around and jacked the man against his seat with the knife pressing so hard on his throat he was barely able to speak. I yelled with a deep attack voice, “How fucking old are you?”

 A strangled “nineteen” issued forth from his mouth. The bus was suddenly very awake.

I continued with my assertion of the facts, for I had asked the girl how old she was earlier and he was present. “That girl is fifteen years old, and you’re a full grown man.” The mother assumed a tardy control over her daughter and moved her across the isle. The bus driver stopped the bus and made a radio call to center dispatch who in turn called the police; they would be at Salt Lake City awaiting the buses arrival. Two men positioned them selves at the side of the young mans seat. A rider behind me began to creep by me, real slow and real low. I stopped him and got him to go back to his seat. He explained he had a daughter of his own. I knew I had just saved both of them from trouble; the idiot pervert from a beating and the other from going to jail for assault. He reached over the seat and held my hand with both his hands and controlled his violent urges. He pulled hard. We entered the next bus depot and police were waiting including the Sergeant. I gave over my knife and sheath to James who passed it on to another rider. As we exited the bus the bus driver stopped and shook my hand, and then said, “I was wondering if I was going to use my new toy” and he showed us his tazer, “I was ready to taz him with 20,000 volts.” We both gave a chuckle.

The police offered the proper amount of questions, and then one asked about the knife. I said, “Knife? What knife?” Apparently the lady did not want to press charges which would have been a difficulty because she lived in St. Louis and it would require testimony from her daughter and me. The police said the guy had previous charges for touching a minor and was on parole. The dude’s mother was at the station waiting for her son, and I remember some lady verbally accosting her and saying, “What type of boy are you raising?” while waving a gesture of finality, and storming off.

After finishing my Q and A I got back on the bus. I asked hands wide, "Did I do good?" The whole bus erupted into applause. I was surprised, and I nodded my head, humble tough guy as I walked back to my seat. Just before the bus left the Sergeant got on and introduced himself to me, and shook my hand. I said, “There's something you don’t see everyday; a cop shaking a bikers hand.” The bus geared up and we on our way to St. Louis. The guy, who had my knife, brought it back to me with a glinting smile on his face, and shook my hand, James, just looked on with respect. We would part ways in St. Louis but until then we would sing songs and have a rather good time. I remember the teenage girl stepped into the world of a child again and played with abandon with her little brother.