He turned.
“Hank, look at our bikes!”
“I know.”
“Then why are you stopping me?”
I pointed toward the teenager.
“Look at him.”
Moose stared.
The kid raised his phone higher.
“Come on! Do something!”
I suddenly understood.
“The paint isn't the prank.”
Moose frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
I lowered my voice.
“We are.”
The kid's smile disappeared for just a second.
Then he shouted even louder.
“You afraid of a teenager?”
I pulled out my phone.
“No.”
“We're calling the police.”
His expression changed instantly.
The laughter stopped.
His friend inside the car suddenly started the engine.
Moose raised his phone and began recording the license plate.
The teenager's confidence was disappearing fast.
Then a state trooper arrived.
The kid immediately started talking.
“It's just a prank!”
The trooper looked at the motorcycles.
“Three motorcycles were deliberately damaged.”
“Nobody got hurt!”
The trooper looked directly at him.
“You were trying to make nine angry people attack you.”
The teenager went silent.
Then an old minivan suddenly screeched into the parking lot.
A woman jumped out.
She looked at her son.
Then at the pink motorcycles.
Her face went pale.
“Tyler…”
The boy looked down.
She covered her mouth.
Then whispered something that made every biker turn toward her.