Carl Weber Presents Ride or Die Chick 4 by J.M. Benjamin Page A

he had proudly managed for the past six years, seven days a week. No one knew more about motorcycles than Carl, not even his father, let him tell it. Since a young boy, he had learned how the machines worked inside and out. He had built his first motorcycle from the ground up by age thirteen. By the time he was twenty-one he had a degree in engineering and a certification in mechanics. Had it not been for his father having a stroke, Carl Davis would still be in school furthering his education to become a master on bikes. Nonetheless, he couldn’t be happier doing what he loved, which was fixing and selling motorcycles.
    â€œGood afternoon, may I help you guys?” he greeted them as he came from behind the counter.
    â€œWe’re just looking right now,” Treacherous announced in a nonchalant manner.
    â€œOkay, no problem. Well, let me know if you guys need any assistance.” Carl flashed another customer-friendly smile. Treacherous’s demeanor did not faze him one bit. Within the past six years, he had sold bikes to or worked on them for people of all walks of life. He believed if you had a love for bikes, then there was a universal love and respect you had for those who did as well, no matter race, gender, or where you grew up; so he got along with even the hardest of people.
    Carl Davis made his way back around the counter. Treacherous and Baby browsed the many rows of bikes inside Davis Motors.
    â€œThese bikes are for whites and old people,” Baby turned to Treacherous and said. “We need something with more power to make a statement,” she added.
    Her words carried just enough to catch Carl Davis’s attention. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, not to be in your business, but—”
    â€œBut you are.” Baby shot him a murderous look.
    Carl Davis’s eyes widened at Baby’s rebuttal. Still he continued from behind the counter. “And I do apologize; it’s just that I may have—”
    â€œYou may have what, mutha—” Baby snapped with attitude cutting Carl Davis off for a second time. But she too was cut off in midsentence.
    â€œBabe, chill.” Treacherous jumped in. He rubbed the back of Baby’s arm to calm her. “We not here for all of that,” he reminded her in her ear. He swept the establishment visually and saw the video cameras in each corner of the walls. He knew the last thing either of them needed was to cause a scene and draw unnecessary attention to themselves. They had more than enough money now to get what they came for without any incident. They were there for one reason and one reason only: to find two bikes.
    Treacherous’s words caused Baby to relax. By now, Carl Davis was just mere inches away from Treacherous and Baby. “She’s right.” He directed his words to Treacherous. “These bikes aren’t for you guys. You need something with more style . . . and power!” he added with excitement in his tone. He snapped his fingers to put emphasis on his words.
    Baby and Treacherous looked at each other. It took everything in Baby’s power to keep from laughing. Instead, she smiled at Treacherous with her eyes. Carl Davis knew he had their attention.
    â€œFollow me.” He waved them on as he began to walk toward the back of the store behind a curtain. When Treacherous and Baby entered the back room, their eyes widened. It was as if they had just stepped into motorcycle heaven. Some of the dopest and most powerful bikes in existence lined the walls.
    â€œWelcome,” Carl Davis announced. He was used to the reaction Treacherous and Baby had once he revealed his back room to them. Being a white kid who knew about bikes made him accepted by all. He was actually responsible for the majority of the tricked-out bikes that roamed the streets of Virginia. His reputation preceded him and he had received countless referrals by satisfied customers.
    â€œYeah.” Treacherous