Off The Record
The Old Biker Who Shielded A Little Girl And Her Shivering Dog — And Made An Entire Crowd Step Aside
Retouch her. and I’ll be your boss.
The elderly man’s voice was harsh and tremulous, not because of fear but rather from trying to contain something far older and deeper.
In a busy alley, an elderly motorcyclist kneels to protect a lost young girl and her trembling dog, setting off a series of events that appear straightforward on the surface but conceal a reality so agonising that it could silence a whole street.
In a little village in Western America, it was late afternoon.
A lengthy tunnel of waning light transformed the tight lane as golden dusk crept across the broken brick walls. The rider had just gotten off his old Harley. He was a white American man in his early sixties with a grey beard, a faded black leather jacket, and heavy boots. The worn crimson bandana around his neck blew in a chill wind.
Then he caught sight of her.
A young girl, perhaps eight years old, with untidy blond locks and dirt-streaked face, holding a trembling brown puppy to her bosom. Around her, a loose circle of grownups stood, half irritated, half uninterested, and unwilling to stoop.
“Please… don’t let them take him,” the girl cried.
The motorcyclist did not enquire as to why.
He just took off his jacket and threw it over the dog and the youngster.
Then he raised his head.
The crowd’s voices vanished as soon as his gaze touched them.
The biker’s name was Jack Mercer, and he slowly looked at the faces in front of him with eyes as cold as steel and worn out as a man who has lost too much.
He gripped the young girl tighter, drawing her in closer as though letting her go even for a moment would portend a horrible outcome.
At last a man in the throng raised his voice, annoyed:
“The child damaged items in the store.” The dog went crazy. The police should be called.
Jack paid him no attention.
Rather, he knelt down to the girl and whispered:
“What’s your name?”
“Emily.”
Her voice was weak and hardly audible.
“What’s his name?” As he stroked the quivering dog, Jack enquired.
Cooper is afraid of loud noises. I… I had no idea where to go.
Jack could feel the dog trembling through his heavy leather jacket. Emily wasn’t fairing any better; her shoulders were shaking and her tiny hands were freezing.
Jack gave her a comforting touch on the back before turning to face the audience.
Nothing was broken by the female. The dog is merely afraid. What do you all want, then? to observe their freezing?
“All we want is order,” a woman mumbled.
Jack laughed without humour.
“I have observed what you refer to as ‘order.'” I had to do more than you can ever imagine.
A couple of them exchanged uncomfortable glances.
Jack raised Emily to her feet. However, the store clerk, a white American man in his mid-30s with a severe, impatient look on his face, appeared as he was about to leave:
“Wait a minute! The child fled the short-term care facility. You can’t simply take her away!”
Emily buried her face in Jack’s chest as she recoiled violently. Cooper let out a whine.
Jack said in a quiet voice, “Are you certain about that?”
With firmness, the man stated, “She is absent from the centre.” “I must hold her.”
Jack lowered himself to Emily’s level.
“Is that accurate?”
With tears streaming down her face, Emily shook her head.
“I have no desire to return. Cooper barked, so they beat him after yelling at me.”
Jack’s chest constricted. A long-buried scar throbbed.
In the young girl, he perceived the ghost of his own ten-year-old son, Tyler, who had been removed from him after Jack lost custody of him during his worst drinking years. The same words had once been whispered by Tyler:
They shout at me. They despise me. Dad… I’d like to return home.
Jack recalled hurrying to pick him up.
He recalled being late.
The mishap.
The phone call.
The world is falling apart.
Since then, he has been plagued by that guilt.
Another terrified child was now in front of him, pleading not to be left behind.
Slowly, with Emily in his arms and a fiery flame in his eyes, Jack rose to his feet.
“She’s accompanying me.”
“You don’t have that right!” yelled the clerk.
Jack responded in a way that silenced the entire alley:
“I’ll pay for saving these two for the rest of my life if I have to.”
The audience froze.
Then an old Black woman with a cane came forward.
“That girl has been sitting outside since the morning. No one fed her. Nobody gave a damn. The motorcyclist is correct.”
A young man gave a nod.
Next, a woman in her middle years.
Next, a dad clutching his young child.
The mob started to move aside one by one.
Jack marched straight through the divided sea of people, pulling his jacket tighter around Emily and Cooper.
“Are you going to leave me?” Emily let out a whine.
Jack gave a headshake.
“I once abandoned a child. I will not repeat that error.”
Emily gave him a strong hug. Cooper seemed to thank Jack by licking his hand.
A recognisable voice called as they were nearly out of the alley:
“Jack, please stop.”
Jack pivoted.
Jack’s old buddy and the town’s police chief, Chief Turner, a white American man in his late 50s wearing a police vest, came forward.
Turner glanced at Jack, then at Emily.
“I don’t want to do this, you know, but legally—”
Jack interrupted him.
“Find out where she wishes to go.”
Turner knelt down.
Would you like to return to the centre, Emily?
She grabbed to Cooper and gave a forceful shake of her head.
Turner gazed at Jack for a considerable amount of time.
Then he let out a sigh.
“You always pick the most difficult path, but occasionally the best one.”
He faced the throng.
“If no one objects, I’ll let him take her.”
Nobody said anything. Nobody made a move. Nobody had the courage.
Turner gave Jack a nod.
Bring them over to my residence. We’ll discuss it further there. But Jack, watch out. This is sensitive.
Jack smiled, a tiny, infrequent smile.
He covered Cooper and Emily in his jacket, hoisted Emily aboard his Harley, and turned on the engine.
The street fell silent.
And as the biker went off, everyone moved aside.
Turner’s home was cosy, with soft yellow lights softening every nook and cranny. With Cooper securely snuggled under her arm, Emily settled up on the ancient couch.
Turner and Jack, two men moulded by suffering, remorse, and years of silent understanding, sat across from one another.
Turner bent over.
“There have been complaints about the care facility. Insufficient to stop it. However, I can act if Emily tells us everything.”
Emily gave a tense nod.
They referred to me as a troublemaker. Cooper barked, so they confined him in a dark room. I was really afraid.
Turner’s mouth clenched.
“You won’t return there. I swear.”
Jack blinked quickly as he turned away, struggling with feelings he believed he had long since buried.
Turner went on:
“Jack… Is there room for her? Even for a short while?”
Jack gave the young girl a look. Cooper is dozing off on her lap. At his own hands—strong and scarred, but hurting from years of isolation.
Emily then got up, approached, and grasped his sleeve.
“Please let me stay with you.”
Jack experienced a break and a healing simultaneously.
“I’m not wealthy,” Jack remarked quietly. “I am not flawless. But for the rest of my life, I’ll keep you and Cooper safe.”
Turner grinned.
“I only needed to hear that.”
Weeks went by.
They awarded temporary guardianship.
The care facility was closed.
Emily’s laughter increased.
Cooper put on weight.
When Jack discovered that his house was warmer than it had been in years, he realised that he had nothing left to live for.
Emily gave him a back hug one evening.
“Uncle Jack, I appreciate you coming back for me.”
Jack touched her hair tenderly.
“No… I appreciate you providing me with motivation to stand once more.”
Then he uttered the words he had previously thought he would never say again:
“Not all family is blood. Occasionally, it’s the people you decide to defend.”
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