“She’s scared of you. Everyone’s scared of you. That’s why I need you.”

I’d seen Tom break a man’s jaw for disrespecting his bike. But his hands shook as he read what else was on that paper – a date, tomorrow, and an address for Riverside Cemetery.

“What was your daddy’s name?” someone asked.

“Officer Marcus Rivera,” the boy said proudly. “He was a police. Bad man shot him.”

The silence got heavier. Cops and bikers weren’t exactly natural allies. Most of us had been hassled, profiled, some even beaten by police. And now this cop’s kid was asking us to honor his fallen father.

Tom stood up slowly. “What’s your name, superman?”

“Miguel. Miguel Rivera.”

“Well, Miguel Rivera,” Tom said, kneeling down to the boy’s eye level