Hep and Scroat made it as far East as Burns, Oregon, before they decided it might be a good idea to actually figure out where the hell they were actually going. After all, away from the coast would only take them so far before they would be heading toward another coast.
Burns is not especially big town, and a pair of funny looking bikers, one of whom was riding a gorgeous custom trike, are the kind of thing that attracts everyone’s attention. As such, as Hep and Scroat rode through town, everybody stopped what they were doing to look.
They stopped at a gas station, and Hep went inside to buy some maps. He bought maps for Oregon, Idaho, Nevada and Washington.
“That’s a real nice looking motorcycle you’ve got out there,” the cashier said when Hep went to pay for the maps.
“Thanks. I built it myself.”
“Well good job, buddy. So where are you two headed?
“East,” Hep said.
“Anywhere in particular?”
“Not yet, that’s what the maps are for,” Hep said.
“Wow, that’s freedom,” the cashier said. “I wish I could just up and do something like that.”
“Yeah,” Hep said. He did his best to contain his sarcasm. “It’s great. Coming from nowhere, with nowhere to go.”
“Well, when you say it like that, maybe it’s just better in concept.
“Could be,” Hep said.
“Are you guys in some kind of trouble?”
Hep smiled at the clerk.
“Always,” he said.
“Well, I’ll tell you what, there’s no trouble that God can’t help you with,” the clerk said.
“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” Hep said. “You have a good day, now.”
“You too. Ride safe.”
Hep went outside, and found a crowd had gathered around Hep’s bike and, to a lesser extent, around Scroat.
“Look, ya fuckin’ hicks, I already told you I don’t know how he did it. Ask him, he’s right over there.”
Hep didn’t like the sound of that.
The crowd around Hep’s bike opened up a bit as they turned to look at him.
“Hey, man, where’d you get the frame for this bike done?” asked a guy in a Miller High Life baseball cap.
“Who made these fenders?” someone else asked.
“Is that a Honda motor in there? Why didn’t you use a Harley motor?”
“Sorry, gentlemen, no time to talk,” Hep said. He swung a leg over his trike and started it, then put the bike in gear.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said to the crowd standing in front of him. They made room for him, and Hep pulled out of the gas station, with Scroat following right behind him.
“Fucking small towns,” Scroat said to Hep at the next stop sign. “Can’t ever get through without talking to fucking everyone and courting their daughters.”
“Whatever, you love the attention, and when have you ever ‘courted’ anyone,” Hep said. They rode on.
A few miles down the road, they found a lonesome church. It was a white, a-frame building with a raw-looking wooden cross out front. The parking lot was empty, and the grounds around the church looked as though no one had been there for a long time. It was, in other words, a good spot to pull in and look at maps without being disturbed.
Hep and Scroat rode to the middle of the parking lot, and shut down their bikes. They sat down and started spreading out the maps. If they’d been paying attention, they might have noticed someone watching them from the other side of the church’s dirty windows.
“I say we go to Vegas,” Scroat said.
“You always say we should go to Vegas,” Hep said. “Right now might not be the best time for Vegas, considering the luck we’ve been having over the last couple of weeks.”
“Yeah, but our luck has to turn around sometime. Let’s go to Vegas! What better place for a dramatic come back? At the very least, we’ll be able to find a couple of whores.”
“Another time. I think we should head into Idaho.”
Scroat’s complete disgust was immediately apparent.
“Idaho?” Scroat said. “What the fuck is in Idaho?”
“Not a damn thing,” Hep said. “But it’s East of here, and I had a thought: maybe we should go pay Inktomi a visit. Where is he living now, anyway?”
“Last I heard, he was somewhere in Minnesota. But that was the last I heard. You know, from back before our house burned down,” Scroat said. He brightened then, and said, “He might be in Vegas now. We should go check to be sure.”
“We’re not going to Vegas. And even if we don’t go all the way to Minnesota, Idaho would be a good place to lay low for a while.”
“But it’s a total shit hole! Can’t we lay low somewhere fun?”
“No. You’re not very good at keeping a low profile in fun places.”
Scroat was the first to notice the man standing next to them. He jumped a little bit.
“Who the fuck are you?” Scroat said.
The man wore sandals and a rough brown robe, tied around his waist with a length of rope.
“I am Brother Aloysius. I was told I should be on the lookout for a pair of unusual motorcyclists, because they might need assistance, and to offer whatever help I could, should I find you.”
“Who told you to be on the lookout for us?” Hep asked.
“The head of my order,” Brother Aloysius said. “He told all of the brothers that we should offer assistance, should we meet a pair of unlikely travelers on motorcycles, and you would most likely be passing through the northwest.”
“How the fuck did he know that?” Scroat asked
“Well, frankly, you’re hardly keeping a low profile looking the way you look, riding those motorcycles through small towns in the middle of nowhere. But an associate of ours hinted that you’d be in the area as well.”
“Who’s this associate? And who are you, I mean, what is your order?”
“I couldn’t say who the associate is, but we are the Order of Patmos,”
“Never heard of you,” Scroat said.
“That is as it should be,” Brother Aloysius said.
“Patmos? You’re Greek?” Hep said.
“Only in a metaphorical sense. Now, are you in need of assistance?”
Hep and Scroat looked at each other, unsure if they needed assistance or not.
“We keep running into the weirdest fucking people,” Scroat said to Hep.
“We sure do,” Hep said. Then he said to Brother Aloysius, “We’re traveling East, and trying to decide where to go next.”
“How far do you plan to go?”
“Well, really, we just want to get away from the oceans,” Hep said.
Brother Aloysius raised an eyebrow. “Is there something to fear in the ocean?”
“Yeah, one royally pissed off sailor. We’re trying to avoid him for a while,” Scroat said.
Brother Aloysius’s eyebrow dropped. “You need protection? I could take you to the headquarters of my order. We have a monastery in Montana.”
“Fuck, that’s even worse than Idaho,” Scroat grumbled. “I’m telling you Hep, we should head to Vegas. We cause a scene even when no one is around. No one will even notice us in Vegas.”
“We’re not going to Vegas!” Hep said. “Let me think for a minute.”
Hep thought, What would a secretive order of monks named after a Greek island want with us. Why would they want to help us? And if they ultimately wanted to screw with us, why go to the trouble of making us think they’re going to help us? Why would they even have an opinion about us, either way?
He couldn’t think of a good reason for the monks to want to harm them, so he said, “OK, I guess Montana could be a good start. How do we get there?”
“Wait just a moment, I’ll get my car,” Brother Aloysius said. He walked back to the church, and slipped quietly through the front door. It suddenly seemed as though he’d never been there at all.
“Man, this is just weird,” Scroat said. “I don’t trust this fucker any more than I trust Robert Wheeler. Why would you agree to go to a remote compound in fucking Montana? There’s nothing like luring someone out into the middle of nowhere when you don’t want any witnesses to notice the terrible things you’re going to do. And what car? Do you see a car? This place doesn’t look like a car has been here in ten years.”
“I think your paranoia is getting to you again, Scroat,” Hep said. “How dangerous can a guy in flip flops and a scratchy robe be, anyway?”
“Depends on what he comes out of that building with, doesn’t it. If he comes out of there with a fucking rocket launcher, I’d say he could be pretty dangerous.”
“Well, OK, if he comes out with a rocket launcher, I’ll agree with you that he could be pretty dangerous. But I think he’s probably just a guy who wants to help us.”
“Help us become ritual sacrifices, I bet,” Scroat said. “I hope you’re ready to get roasted on a spit. Let’s go to Vegas. There’s still time to get away from him, and we’ll blend right in there.”
They heard a small engine start somewhere behind the building, then the squeal of a loose fan belt as the driver stepped on the gas. A battered, white Ford Escort came around the side of the decrepit church, and drove over to them. Brother Aloysius rolled down the window.
“The closest city to our compound is Winnett. It’s about fifteen hours from here. You can ride in here with me, or just follow me.”
Hep looked at Scroat and said, “I don’t really want to leave our bikes fifteen hours away again, do you?”
“Nope. It’s a pain in the ass trying to track down new wheels.”
“I think we’ll just follow you,” Hep said to Brother Aloysius.
“OK, I’ll do my best not to ditch you,” Brother Aloysius said.
“Don’t worry,” Hep said, “We’ll be able to keep up.”
A special treat for my readers: This comic was brought to my attention. I think you might enjoy it.
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