blackjack

Murphy hesitantly grabbed Chet's outstretched hand and clumsily fit his boot into the stirrup. He lunged up and flung his leg over the horse. "These things are wider than they look," Murphy said in a pained voice. "I don't know how you cowboys ride 'em. Thank God my bike ain't this wide." Murphy expected some comment from the stranger, but none came. So after a short awkward silence he said, "Ok, let's get goin'." (Cue Chet and his horse. FYI, I'll be in and out in the next few weeks 'cos I'm on business so anyone feel free to jump in and work around my character until I can post.)

Murphy was about to sheepishly admit he'd never ridden a horse before when a man in a dark colored car drove by. He noticed the two strangers exchange greetings. Then he noticed the contents of the trunk as the car sped away. "Hey! That's my bike!," Murphy exclaimed. "Go after that guy. He's got my bike!" Murphy took a few running steps in the direction the car had driven, but knew it was a lost cause to follow on foot. (Cue Chet or Brian)

Murphy looked up, slightly annoyed at the sarcasm, but at the same time grateful that he seemed to be nearing what passed for civilization in these parts. In any other situation, Murphy might've shot back with sarcasm of his own, but he was tired. So he got straight to the point. "My bike broke down a ways back. I don't suppose you could point me to the nearest gas station?" (Cue Chet. And thanks for the welcome! Looks like I'll have fun here. )

The cold horizontal rain stung Blackjack Murphy's eyes as he raced down the dark, deserted highway. Despite the weather, he gunned the engine and accelerated. Speed was the only thing that made him feel truly alive. But that feeling was shortlived as the roar of his motorcycle soon became a sputter. He cursed as he pulled the bike to the side of the road. "Empty. Dammit." He lowered the kickstand and dismounted the bike. Frustrated, he removed his leather gloves and slapped them on the seat. He looked up and down the expanse of the highway for any oncoming traffic, but there was none to be seen. The only light he could see was distant, a long walk to be sure. With a sigh of resignation, took off his helmet. He put it in one of the saddlebags and pulled out his black stetson. He put it on, shaping the brim and sides for a few seconds before giving the brim a quick flick with his finger. He fastened his duster, put his gloves back on, and pulled his jacket collar up around his neck. Then he picked up the saddlebags, slung them over his shoulder, and started his long walk toward the distant lights on the horizon.