Chapter 17 - The Road to Billings
Monday morning broke cold and grey, with a bitter frost clinging to the barbed wire fences along Highway 12.
At 6:00 AM, the roar began.
It didn't start with one engine or two. It started as a solid, unbroken wall of sound that rolled out from behind the clubhouse and shook the morning mist off the grass for a full mile in every direction.
One hundred and seventy Harley-Davisons, Triumphs, and custom choppers rolled onto the asphalt in a tight, double-file formation that stretched as far as the eye could see. At the front of the column, riding the massive matte-black Harley, was Bear. And sitting securely in the sidecar attached to Tiny's custom rig—bundled in a heavy leather jacket with a custom-made miniature cut across the back—was Emma.
She wasn't scared. She had her sketchbook clutched in her lap, and behind her ear, tucked securely into her wool cap, was a brand-new yellow crayon.
By 9:30 AM, the massive convoy rolled into the parking lot of the Yellowstone County Courthouse in downtown Billings.
Passersby froze on the sidewalks, dropping shopping bags and staring in stunned silence as bike after bike pulled into the municipal stalls, cutting their engines in a synchronized wave of metallic thunder that rattled the courthouse windows.
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Within three minutes, one hundred and seventy men and women in heavy leather vests had formed a silent, immovable wall along the stone steps of the courthouse, blocking the main entrance completely.
Pendelton, the corporate lawyer, arrived in a gleaming silver sedan ten minutes later. He stepped out of the car, took one look at the sea of leather and chrome blocking the steps, and literally stopped dead in his tracks, his briefcase slipping an inch down his fingers.
