The first week back at work after the summer holiday was tedious. There were many good things about summer as a bike rider of course, and the nightly midnight ride home on the ZZR was always a chance to let rip a bit.
Come Thursday night and as I am riding home, maybe quarter to one in the morning, I saw a bike with a learner plate parked at a bus stop next to a block of closed shops. Now seeing a learner plated rider out after 10pm is breaking the licence conditions, so this made me think. No worry to me of course, but, coupled with the helmet hanging on a mirror and a car parked at an odd angle in front of the bike, I just had this weird feeling something was amiss.
As I'd just flashed past this scene at a slightly illegal speed, I decided to do a U-turn and check that all was in order. Us bikers have to look out for one another you see, and this wasn't the best part of town, so with a mixture of concern and caution I rode up behind the parked bike after having done a second U-turn.
In the bus shelter I now see the rider fending off a young man who seems rather enraged, pushing the rider around, yelling loudly and punching wildly. As I approach the bus shelter I check that there's no one else in the car or lurking nearby in the shadows, basic army training stays with you I guess.
"Hey fellas, what's the go here?" I call out as I get close, at which the attacking man turns on me in a flash. OK, this isn't what I expected, maybe an ambush then? He flashes a blade at me and lunges for me. Shame he missed me, stumbled and helped by my swift foot ended up kissing the pavement. Taking the blade off him, kicking him in the kidneys and then standing on one of his hands I call out to the rider: "You alright there mate?"
"Yes, no, please help, he…." a female voice calls out in a shaky fashion.
The guy on the pavement starts yelling and screaming, interrupting the rider, and telling me that I've got it all wrong. With a bit more pressure on his hand he soon shuts up and I call on the female rider to continue.
"He stopped when I ran out of petrol, then when I didn't want to….he began pushing me around, hitting me, and then you rode past…and I was so glad you turned around…." she said as she promptly burst into tears and slumped to the ground in the bus shelter.
Sitting on the guys' lower back I fished out my cell phone and called the police. The operator said there was already a unit on the way to the location I'd given, someone from across the road had called already. The guy I'm restraining doesn't want to stay put; a quick smack in the face sorts him out. The operator asks what that commotion was and I explained I was restraining the attacker at present but getting sick of his language and continued attempts to escape.
"Yeah well, reasonable force is fine sir," she says as she hears me bop him another one.
"I can hear a siren now, so I guess we'll be fine soon, thanks," I say as I stay on the line until the boys in blue charge in and take over.
Pretty soon we've got three patrol cars on scene and all I want to do is go home and to sleep. A brief statement along with my particulars is all that the officer in charge needed. He compared what I'd said with the caller's statement, as he'd witnessed the whole thing from across the road, and I was free to go. It wasn't until I was lying in bed that it dawned on me how this whole thing could have turned nasty. Still, I felt like I'd done the right thing. I slept like a baby that night and put the whole thing to the back of my mind.
Around 8am on Saturday morning the police call and want me to come down to give a detailed statement. That was done soon enough, court date would be advised etc. The victim's family wanted my contact details, was that OK? Sure why not is all I said to that, and soon enough I'm home with my head on the pillow again, dead to the world.
Early in the afternoon I had my bike out in front of the garage, washing it, tensioning and lubing the chain etc. when a top end Merc pulls up, a well-kept lady hops out and walks up the driveway carrying a small gift basket. There's just something about a woman who rocks up in $200,000 car wearing $500 high heels, an outfit worth several thousand and jewellery worth more than my bike. Let's just say she had my undivided attention the minute her firm pins walked up my driveway...
"Hi, are you Nick Lassiter?" she asks as I get up from the ground.
"Yes, m'am, and you are?" I replied.
"Oh, I am Emma Carrajanis, Trudy's mom," she says.
"Thursday night's damsel in distress I suppose?" I ask, merely confirming the obvious.
"Uhuh, got it in one," she laughs nervously.
"How is your daughter doing now?" I asked, now noticing how Emma is trembling slightly.
"How about a coffee and a brief sit-down?" I add.
"Yes please," Emma quickly answers.
I washed my hands, shook her hand, at which she put the basket on the ground, wrapped her arms around me and just hugged me for what seemed like at least a minute. She didn't say anything until she let me go. "Did you know the guy you took down was a convicted rapist?" Emma asked with tears forming in her eyes.
"C'mon let's get inside and you can tell me the whole thing m'am," I answered as I led her inside, scooping up the basket she brought.
As I make coffee I just dismiss what I did: "To me what I did was simply the right thing at the time, I'm just pleased your daughter didn't fall prey to this guy."
Emma was visibly shaking as she retells her version of events: "I was so disappointed you'd left the scene only minutes before I got there myself. To hear Trudy say how you screamed past, turned around, raced up, pummelled the bastard to the ground, smashed him in the face repeatedly when he wouldn't shut up, made sure she was not hurt, calmly called the police, smashed the bastards' face some more, talked to the cops for a few minutes, and promptly rode off as quick as you arrived."
"Wow, that's not quite how I remember it m'am," I laughed as I sipped my coffee. "To me it was simply a biker in distress, and we help each other out whenever possible. Basic army training took care of the rest, it was all over in no time," I said calmly, watching how her face took on a quizzical look.
"Please call me Emma," she urged as she continued: "Yes, you may dismiss it as easily as that…but for me…my little girl could have been….I'm sorry I just can't bear the…." she trembled and started sobbing, putting her face in her hands.