TROUBLE AT THE CHAT AND CHEW CAFE...

BELLADONNA camping trip to Harbin Hotsprings

     It had been couple of weeks of bad luck in the Lonely City, and I was in need of some R&R...I needed to get out of the noise and hustle and get some fresh air.  First it was the leggy, boozy brunette and then my van bit the dust....I just couldn't seem to catch a break, so pulled my 1980 GL1100 motorcycle out of the garage and packed the saddlebags with a few clothes, my travel easel and oil paints and a bottle of Hornitos. Then I tied my bedroll and tent on the seat, climbed on and punched the button. The little sweetheart fired right up and purred.  I dropped it into gear with my foot and twisted the throttle.
       Before long I was winding my way up Coast Route One...destination: Harbin Hot Springs.  The hot springs was a great place for a guy that wanted to get outta Dodge and not be followed. I planned to spend a couple of days camping along the shady creek and soaking in the hot baths...maybe get out the pochade box and paint some of the local beauty...yeh, that was the plan...but I had learned by then that things don't always go according to plan. 
     Sometimes in life, a guy looks back and wishes he'd done something different, and I was destined to have one of those times in the very near future. In my case, I wished I hadn't pulled into that little town on the coast....I wished I hadn't decided to  get some coffee in that little cafe called the Chat & Chew, but I needed a cup of joe and maybe some breakfast, so I parked Belladonna in front and eased her onto her kickstand. It looked like a typical small-town greasy spoon...not too bad...you know the kind...a cook back at the stove that looks somewhat hygienically  challenged and a middle-aged waitress that calls everyone "hon".  I slid into a booth,  threw my keys on the table and ordered coffee.

 I had just taken a couple of sips when I heard the sound of cheap high heels on a linoleum tile floor approaching from behind.  I didn't think much of it until the occupant of the cheap high heals suddenly stopped and slid into my booth across from me.  She was a tall, busty dame with too much lipstick.  If her car insurance was anything like her blouse, she was driving without full coverage. She leaned across the table, nearly spilling my coffee in an avalanche of cleavage.  With enormous effort I looked up at her face...she was pale with fear...her eyes looked desperate...
    "Please...." she whispered, "I need help!" I had taken this trip to get away from trouble, but it had tracked me down like a bloodhound on the trail of a bacon thief...I'm a sucker for a broad in trouble and I could tell I wasn't gonna slip out of this one.  "There's a man following me," she rasped, and then her eyes grew wide..."he just walked in the door...please help me!!"  I turned around to see a big ugly brute of a guy looking around the joint...then his eyes settled on the dame and he smiled...it was a cold, evil smile that would freeze a blow torch.  He wasn't the kind of guy that I would wanna go up against...he was nearly a foot taller than me and out weighed me by a hundred pounds. His tattooed biceps looked like sacks of cement, and he was heading my way.  I stayed where I was, trying to plan my moves if things got ugly..."Hey sweetheart," he growled, "how about you and I go for a little walk, eh?"  The dame looked terrified and I knew my only chance to stop this guy was to catch him by surprise...he probably wasn't use to anybody challenging him.  I didn't have time to consider the consequences,  so, hoping this place gave free refills,  I threw my coffee in his face, mug and all, and dove at him, knocking him backward before he had time to react. He crashed into a glass display case full of homemade pies and landed on the floor in a pile of glass and custard and whipped cream. I only had a moment before he would recover and throw me through the plate glass window, so I grabbed the coffee pot off the warmer and smashed it over his bulldog face. He screamed and I kicked him as hard as I could in the groin and smashed the other coffee pot over his head. That seemed to put him out of commission long enough for me to toss a couple bucks onto the table, figure a twenty percent tip, and head for the door. Then I heard a familiar sound...it was Belladonna's four cylinder engine firing up, the clunk of the gearbox, and I got to the door just in time to see the blonde roar off down the highway.  She had grabbed my keys off the table while I was having pie and coffee with the incredible hulk. I just stood there like a sucker and watched my beloved bike disappear out of town. 
        The life of an itinerant artist isn't always an easy one...ya never know what's around the next corner.  It's a chancy job and it makes a man watchful...and a little lonely. 

   
  I walked on down the street and headed for the bus station.




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