His fists were clenched.
Not because he planned to hit her.
He never would have.
But anger had tightened every muscle in his body before judgment caught up.
Customers moved aside.
One woman put a hand over her mouth.
An older man shouted:
“Kid, get away from that bike!”
The girl remained where she was.
Her knees visibly trembled.
The biker stopped several feet away.
“Why?”
His voice was rough.
“What did you do that for?”
The child swallowed.
Then pointed downward.
“Look.”
He stared at her.
“What?”
“Look down.”
He almost shouted again.
Then something about her expression stopped him.
She was terrified.
Not guilty.
Not mischievous.
Terrified.
And she was not looking at the paint.
She was looking beneath the motorcycle.
The biker followed her finger.
At first he saw only shadow beneath the rear fender.
Then something moved.
A tiny white paw appeared beside the tire.
His anger vanished so quickly it almost made him dizzy.
He crouched.
“Everybody back.”
Nobody moved.
He turned sharply.
“Back up. Give me room.”
People finally obeyed.
The little girl immediately dropped to her knees beside him.
A gray kitten lay beneath the motorcycle.
It was tiny.
Maybe eight or nine weeks old.
Part of its body was hidden beneath the rear section.
One hind leg stretched toward the frame.
The animal was breathing rapidly.
The biker removed the earbuds he had forgotten were still in his ears.
That explained why he had not heard the child shouting before he reached the motorcycle.
He looked at her.
“You saw him?”
She nodded.
“He crawled under there.”
The biker reached carefully toward the kitten.
“Did you touch him?”
“No.”
“Good.”
The animal tried to move.
Then cried.
A thin, frightened sound.
The biker froze.
Something was wrong.
He moved closer.
The rear leg did not simply appear trapped.
Something dark ran across the fur.
At first he assumed it was a cable from the motorcycle.
Then he touched it.
Cord.
Black nylon cord.
He followed it with his fingers.
One end had been looped around the kitten's rear leg.
The other had been tied tightly around the lower section of the motorcycle frame.
The knot was deliberate.
Not tangled.
Not accidental.
Tied.
The biker's face changed.
The little girl saw it.
“What?”
He did not answer.
“Sir?”
He looked beneath the bike again.
The kitten had not merely crawled there.
Someone had placed it there.
Someone had tied a living animal to his motorcycle.
His anger returned.
But this time it had a different target.
“Who did this?”
The girl shook her head quickly.
“I don't know.”
“Did you see somebody?”
“I saw the kitten.”
“When?”
“When Grandma was paying.”
The girl's grandmother finally pushed through the gathering crowd.
She grabbed the child by both shoulders.