The sheriff’s face went chalk-white. The crowd that had been so loud a moment ago scrambled backward onto the sidewalks, pressing themselves against the brick walls of the storefronts as if trying to merge with the masonry.
Fifty heavy cruisers swarmed Main Street, boxing in Sheriff Whitfield's cruiser, boxing in Tommy, and forming a protective steel wall around Arthur and his dead Harley. The engines cut out almost in unison. The sudden silence that fell over Oak Haven was more terrifying than the roar had been.
A giant of a man with a graying beard and a "PRESIDENT" rocker on his chest kicked down his stand. He walked past the trembling sheriff, past a paralyzed Tommy, and stopped directly in front of Arthur.
The giant didn't posture. He didn't shout. He bowed his head slightly.
"Sorry we took so long, First 9," the President said, his voice carrying through the dead-silent street. "Traffic on the interstate."
Arthur took one final drag of his cigarette and flicked it into the puddle of oil. "Took you long enough, Marcus."
Marcus turned his head, his cold eyes sweeping over Tommy, Derek, and finally locking onto Sheriff Whitfield. "These locals give you any trouble, Arthur?"
Sheriff Whitfield opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Tommy looked like he was about to pass out, his eyes darting frantically for an escape route that didn't exist.
Arthur slowly got to his feet, his joints popping. He looked at Tommy, then at the Sheriff, and finally at the terrified crowd.
"No," Arthur said softly, a small, knowing smile touching the corner of his mouth. "Just a town full of people who forgot their manners. Load her up, boys. We're done here."
As four massive bikers carefully lifted the vintage 1948 Harley into a chase truck that had pulled up behind the pack, Arthur walked over to Tommy's shiny, expensive motorcycle. He didn't touch it. He just looked at the boy.
"Keep the rubber side down, kid," Arthur whispered.
Arthur climbed onto the back of the President's bike. With a deafening roar that shook the dust from Oak Haven's rooftops, the pack turned around and rode out, leaving a town of humbled people staring at a black oil stain on the pavement—the only proof that a legend had ever been there at all.