As they reached the intersection leading to the street where he had left his car, he stopped abruptly. From behind them came a metallic growling that grew to an outrageous sputtering and roaring. They turned and saw a man on a motorcycle weaving spectacularly down the street, in and out between the debris. He cornered past a rusting old Chevrolet, circled, and curved to a stop a few yards away. The man leaned the motorcycle on its kick-stand, pushed back his black cap and said, "Hey, doll, where you going with this square?"
The Earth Mother said, "Look, it's Rocky!"
Rocky had a sheathed hunting knife in his black, rivet-studded belt, but no other weapons. His jacket, shirt, pants, and boots were black, as was the motorcycle. He glared at Markel. "What's your move, square man? Where in hell you going with my broad?"
"Don't try to stop us," said Markel, pointing the M-1 at Rocky's chest.
"Don't call me your broad," said the Earth Mother.
"Dad, nobody steals Rocky's broad. I'm gonna chop you up."
Patting the stock of the M-1, Markel said, "I think you fail to realize the situation. You're in no position to chop up anybody."