Damnation Alley

Now there were lights within shadows that he passed, and the buildings moved closer together. He leaned heavily on the handlebars, and the muscles of his shoulders smoldered beneath his jacket. He wished that he had a crash helmet, for he felt increasingly unsteady.

He must be almost there. Where would he head, once he hit the city proper? They had not told him that.

He shook his head to clear it.

The street he drove along was deserted. There were no traffic sounds that he could hear. He blew his horn, and its echoes rolled back upon him.

There was a light on in the building to his left.

He pulled to a stop, crossed the sidewalk, and banged on the door. There was no response from within. He tried the door and found it locked. A telephone would mean he could end his trip right there.

What if they were all dead inside? The thought occurred to him that just about everybody could be dead by now. He decided to break in. He returned to his bike for a screwdriver, then went to work on the door.

He heard the gunshot and the sound of the engine at approximately the same time.

He turned around quickly, his back against the door, the hand grenade in his gloved right fist.

"Hold it!" called out a loudspeaker on the side of the black car that approached. "That shot was a warning! The next one won't be!"

Ta

There were two officers in the car, and the one on the passenger side held a .38 pointed at Ta

"You're under arrest," he said. "Looting."

Ta

"Looting," the man with the gun repeated. "You'll pull a real stiff sentence."

"Stick your hands out here, boy," said the second cop, and Ta

The man stared at it dumbly for several seconds; then his eyes shot to Ta

"God! He's got a bomb!" said the man with the gun.

Ta

"You didn't run the Alley on that bike!"

"No, I didn't. My car is dead somewhere between here and Albany, and so are a lot of folks who tried to stop me. Now, you better take that medicine and get it where it's supposed to go in a hurry."

"You on the level, mister?"

"My hand is getting very tired. I am not in good shape." Ta

He pulled his pardon out of his jacket and handed it to the officer with the handcuffs. "That's my pardon," he said. "It's dated just last week, and you can see it was made out in California."

The officer took the envelope and opened it. He withdrew the paper and studied it. "Looks real," he said. "So Brady made it through... ."

"He's dead," Ta

"My God! Hold it tight! Get in the car and sit down! It'll just take a minute to get the case off, and we'll roll. We'll drive to the river, and you can throw it in. Squeeze real hard!"

They unfastened the case and put it in the back of the car. They rolled down the right-front window, and Ta

The siren screamed, and the pain crept up Ta

"Where do you keep your river?" he asked.

"Just a little farther. We'll be there in no time."

"Hurry," Ta

"That's the bridge up ahead. We'll ride out onto it, and you throw it off, as far out as you can."

"Man, I'm tired! I'm not sure I can make it... ."

"Hurry, Jerry!"

"I am, damn it! We ain't got wings!"

"I feel kind of dizzy, too... ."

They tore out onto the bridge, and the tires screeched as they halted. Ta

He staggered, and they helped him to the railing. He sagged against it when they released him.

"I don't think I..."

Then he straightened, drew back his arm, and hurled the grenade far out over the waters.

He gri

The two officers sighed, and Ta

"I'm really okay," he said. "I just faked it to bug you."

"Why you…!"

Then he collapsed, and they saw the pallor of his face within the beams of their lights.

The following spring, on the day of its unveiling in Boston Common, when it was discovered that someone had scrawled obscene words on the statue of Hell Ta

So they reveiled his statue, bigger than life, astride a great bronze Harley, and they cleaned him up for hopedfor posterity. But coming upon the Common, the winds still break about him, and the heavens still throw garbage.