We were a mixed bag. There were eleven of us on nine bikes. There were the two brothers who worked construction, both riding solo, two single secretaries from Dell Computer both riding solo, and two couples from the University of Texas who rode tandem. Then the third couple I didn’t know that well, they both worked for the State somehow and they rode solo, and lastly myself, a freelance graphics artist, sadly also riding solo.
We had just completed the first half of a motorcycle ride from Austin to Surfside. We stopped in the Outlook Bar for a few drinks. It had been a hot ride with the temperature hovering at 99 degrees with the blazing Texas sun reflecting off the blacktop and concrete roads. I had ridden with all these people before but never as a group. We had some problems on the ride and I was aware there was a lot of tension among the riders.
When we entered the elevated bar on stilts, there was only the bartender and a solitary longhaired old man in the bar. The bar, even at midday, was pretty dark with only a few lights, the typical neon signs and the musty smell of stale beer. The bartender was watching a small television and the old guy was at a table staring at a drink. The bartender looked up at us but the old guy just moved his eyes, looked at us and went back to contemplating his full drink.
The two UT couples went to the jukebox and started feeding it. Soon, the sounds of Queen and Foreigner were blaring from the speakers and the couples started dancing. The brothers were both trying to chat up the same girl while trying to see who could out drink the other. The other single secretary was sitting with me and complaining to me about her ex-husband, a subject I was pretending to listen to. The third couple took their beers and walked outside to watch the gulf from the outside deck.
I had just started my fourth beer and was feeling a warm buzz when I heard one brother yell at the other, “The bitch is mine”, as he shoved his brother. The shove moved him about six feet and up against the wall. The girl started moving away as the brothers started coming back together. Then I heard and saw a glass break between them and the old man standing up. He had thrown his drink on the floor between the two combatants. The old man was standing there supported by an aluminum cane. In a loud monotone that caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up he said, “Shut the hell up and apologize to the lady”.
I took a closer look at the old man. He appeared to be in his 50’s, tall, and heavy set, dark hair streaked with gray half way down his back, and a white goatee. What struck me the most were his eyes. I had seen them briefly as we came in and they were pale; but now they seemed to be black. His jaw was set and determined. A chill went down my spine. I felt like I was seeing icy cold eyes of Death.
Silence hung over the bar; even the jukebox had fallen silent. The brothers looked at each other and smiled. These boys weren’t small they both stood about 6’3” and weighed about 215 pounds each. I knew they were fixing to go after the old man. While I was trying to decide what I should do, the old man seemed to move from the table to between the two brothers in one stride. He did something with the cane that had one brother on the floor with the cane twisting his arm behind his back and the other brother was also on the floor holding his right knee and in obvious pain. I never did see why, the old man didn’t seem to be moving fast but with one smooth motion.
The old man grabbed the hair of the brother in the arm lock and pulled his head up off the floor and the broken glass from earlier. Drops of blood and cuts on his face were clearly visible. I heard the old man say very calmly, “The lady is waiting on an apology”. I looked at the “lady” and she was speechless. It seemed she was as much in shock at the events as the rest of us. I watched as both brothers mouthed an apology in voices that seemed higher pitched than normal. The old man looked at the lady and asked, “Do you accept these boys apologies, Ma’am?” She just shook her head yes. The old man turned back to the brothers and said, “I think you boys have had enough to drink. Why don’t you just pay your bills and mosey along now? “. I watched as both brothers shook their heads up and down and said meekly, “Yes Sir”. The old man let up the one brother and told him to assist his brother. He did. They paid their tab and started out the door holding on to each other telling me they would be outside with the scooters.
As I turned back, I saw the old man trying to pay the bartender for the broken glassware. The bartender was refusing any money arguing that the old man saved him more damage to the bar. I approached them and noticed the old man shift his weight and eye me warily. I smiled and held my hands up saying, “I am not looking for any trouble, just want to know if I can buy you a fresh drink.”
The old man looked me square in the eyes, which I noticed were now a green color, and said, “No thank you, I don’t drink anymore”. He must have noticed the puzzled look on my face as I looked at the drink on the floor and back up at him. He chuckled, “I was just feeling a bit low and testing myself.” His explanation left a lot to be desired. He continued, “I am a recovering alcoholic. I haven’t had a drink in over 20 years.” That was a bit better, but the old man had piqued my curiosity. I offered to buy him a soft drink and he told the bartender a diet soda.
I looked around and the rest of the group minus the brothers had moved in behind me. We moved back to the table and the others pulled up chairs. We introduced ourselves and the old man said just to call him “Tex”. Well Tex was soon inundated with questions. His answers were always short and seemed complete but vague. He said the moves we saw were just something he picked up and that he was not into martial arts. I could tell he was uncomfortable talking about himself. He kept diverting questions and getting the others to talk about themselves. The others in the group never seemed to notice. I had never seen anyone deflect questions with such artistry and tact.
He was quite conversant on a variety of subjects. He intelligently discussed music, literature, motorcycles and computers. He looked at people when they talked and encouraged them to talk more. I learned more about these people than I had since I had been riding with them. I asked the old man what he did for a living. His response was once again vague, as he responded, “Retired government employee”. I looked up at the clock and noticed it was time for us to leave and go the motorcycle drag races that we had come down to see. I regretted leaving. I wanted to stay, but as Ride Captain I was responsible for keeping to the schedule.
I was heading everyone toward the door when the lady who was between the two brothers turned around and said, “Excuse me, I forgot to thank him”. She walked back over to the old man while I waited at the door. She bent over the table, kissed him on the cheek and came to the door. She smiled at me and said, “You guys go ahead I will find my way home. There is something here I want to get to know better.” I looked at the twinkle in her eyes and then at the old man who was now smiling and looking at her standing here. I knew but I didn’t understand. I asked her if she was sure. She just smiled and said, “My momma told me never to judge a book by its cover. That man in a short time has reminded me of that and I know I want to find what is inside”. With that statement she turned and went back to the old man.
As I sit here writing this I think back to that weekend. I never did find out what the old man did or what his story was. I found out later from her friend the young lady who stayed behind, left her job at Dell. No one knows where she went or with whom. I would like to think she is still with “Tex”, reading the life I saw in his wrinkles, and living the life I saw in his changing eyes.
THE END
