Free Mandarin Orange: Sweet and Sour by T. C. Blue

the Victorian-style houses give way to smaller, more modern-looking ones. Then the houses became interspersed with smallish apartment buildings before fading out in favor of more apartments, condos and businesses. It was interesting to see that, at least in the part of the city where he was riding, even the newest buildings weren’t ultra-modern, but more in keeping with the old-fashioned, nearly historical style.
    It was different downtown. Kelly remembered that much from his incredibly foolish ride in the storm. Most of the buildings downtown had been huge. Even the obviously ancient ones had towered over the streets, while the newer edifices had been glass and chrome, much as in any other city. Kelly preferred the character of the area where he was currently riding. It almost reminded him of home. Less hilly and with straighter streets, but there was still that bit of quaint charm that was appealing.
    “Sweet machine,” called the guy who’d stepped from the shop while Kelly had been backing his bike to the curb at a forty-five degree angle. “Looks sorta like a Softail, but not really. Still sweet, though.”
    Kelly laughed and popped the bike up on its stand. “It’s had a lot of work done,” he admitted, “but it started out a Softail Custom. The guy I bought it from was a big fan of messing around with things.” He shrugged and unfastened his ruined helmet, then pulled it off and offered the tall, tattooed guy a grin. “It runs like a dream, though. Made it here from California without any problems.”
    The guy stared pointedly at Kelly’s helmet, clearly noticing the missing face shield. “Uh-huh. Looks like it.”
    Kelly’s grin turned sheepish. “Yeah. The helmet happened after I was already here. You know that storm the other day? Well, let’s just say it didn’t go well for me. So I’m looking for a new helmet. Um, I’m Kelly.”
    “Spider,” the bike shop guy replied, and he cracked a grin when Kelly blinked. “Yeah, I know. I’m a walking cliché. I blame my dad for the name. Mom wanted to call me Oliver. I’m not sure whether that would have been better or worse. Come on inside, Kelly. I’m pretty sure I have something that’ll work for you.”
    As it turned out, Spider did. The new helmet was almost perfect, colored just a half-shade lighter than the deep burgundy of Kelly’s bike. Kelly tried it on and decided it fit well enough, even when he took his hair down from his habitual ponytail. “I’ll take it,” he announced happily, already pulling his wallet from the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
    Spider chuckled. “Don’t you want to know how much it is?”
    Kelly shook his head. “It fits and it’s a close enough match. It’ll cost whatever it costs. But don’t worry; I know it won’t be cheap.” It really wouldn’t, but that was fine. Kelly was willing to pay for top-of-the-line safety. His credit card company would love him for it just as much as Kelly hated using credit in the first place.
    “O’Connor,” Spider said when he took Kelly’s card to run it through the machine. “Kelly O’Connor. Why does that sound so familiar?” He frowned, obviously wracking his brain. “I swear I’ve heard it somewhere before.”
    “I doubt it,” Kelly said, one hand running possessively over the hard, curved surface of the new helmet. “I only got here a few days ago. Nobody knows me yet. And vice versa.”
    Spider shrugged and swiped the card, then handed card and a charge slip back to Kelly, along with a pen. “I’m sure I know the name, man, but it’ll come to me eventually.” He traded Kelly’s signed slip for a duplicate. “Enjoy your new helmet and if you need anything else for that sweet bike, you know where to find me. I’ve got a nice little repair shop off the alley out back. We don’t do any real custom work, but you can’t beat us for regular fix-ups and maintenance. We do some painting, too, just in case you want to touch things up a little.”