The Biker 2

This morning I looked at myself in the mirror; the slap the mysterious motorcyclist gave me left a bruise that lasted five days. I had to make up at work that I fell while changing a lightbulb. It was a stupid excuse, but it was what occurred to me.

I study my face, now free of bruises. I am a handsome man and I know people think the same as I do. I have a pale face, a beard and mustache that I always try to keep neat and well trimmed. I’m 1.70 m tall and I’m slim but athletic.

After five days I can’t forget the incident in the parking lot. All my suspicions centered on Javier, who was the only one at the facilities that day. But I’ve been investigating him and Javier arrives every day by bus; he doesn’t use and has never used motorcycles.

Since it’s a small town and everyone knows each other, I asked Facundo, one of my trusted teachers, if he had ever seen Javier riding a motorcycle.

“Never, why?” he asked me.

“Just curious,” I answered nervously.

“I’m a motorcyclist. In fact, here in town there’s a motorcyclists’ association, and I assure you I’ve never seen him,” he replied.

“There’s a motorcyclists’ association?” I asked, intrigued.

“Yes, of course,” he told me.

“Hey, and would you invite me on a ride with you someday?” I asked, knowing I would recognize the biker suit as soon as I saw it.

“Of course,” he told me. “In fact, tonight we’re going on a ride. Do you want to come?” he asked me, and I nodded.

At nine at night I arrive at a parking lot by the beach where the motorcyclists meet for their ride.

I’m wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black dress jacket… trying to look as much like a motorcyclist as I can, obviously causing some laughter. As happens in a small town, I know 80% of the people there: my students’ fathers, the man from the store, some young people I’ve crossed paths with. But everyone is wearing leather and denim jackets; none of them has on a biker suit like the one I… saw.

The ride becomes fun, actually.

For a moment I forget my mission to find the mysterious motorcyclist and focus on spending time with the male and female motorcyclists; we ride through the town and a stretch of the road that leads to town, winding along a cliff from where the sea can be seen. I’m holding on to Fabricio, behind him, and I feel safe; he is a very skilled motorcyclist and doesn’t do stupid things while driving.

We finish the ride at the same point where we started and have a couple of beers until one in the morning.

“I think it’s time for me to go to sleep,” I say, somewhat tired and slightly tipsy from the beers.

“I’ll take you home,” Fabricio says to me.

“No, man, I live two blocks away,” I tell him, pointing to a place where my house isn’t. I laugh. “That way,” I correct myself, point...