“Speak of the devil.” She said sounding almost frightened.
Trunks looked around, at the café, the sidewalk, and then finally in the street. He didn’t notice anything at first, until he heard a motorcycle rev up while waiting for the light to change. He looked at the motorcycle and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
The motorcyclist was looking at him. Even though he had his helmet on and a tinted visor, Trunks could feel the rider staring at him.
If this was Gohan, as Bulma claimed it was, he had grown into a huge man. He was tall and muscular, clad in black leather from head to toe, and oozed danger, even from the third lane away from them.
Bulma started and Trunks put a reassuring hand on hers when it was obvious that the motorcyclist, upon turning midway in the street, was going to come straight for them. He pulled his big Harley up onto the sidewalk, right up to them, startling several other table occupants in the outdoor patio. He pulled the bike right up to the wrought iron fence in front of Trunks’s and Bulma’s table. Then he just sat there, still staring at Trunks through his visor, his motorcycle powering down loudly.
Trunks couldn’t even make out features through the visor — he felt creeped out as the motorcyclist continued to stare at him. Trunks returned a hardened look at the man that must be Gohan, showing him he didn’t like his intimidating behavior.
He suddenly heard chuckling, and even though the voice was older, he knew. He knew it was Gohan’s voice. It was mirthless but was the same laugh he had heard so many times come bubbling out of the older version of Gohan that was his best friend and master from his own time.
The strong hands, clad in leather riding gloves, came up and pulled the helmet up and off. The pale face was revealed, still innocent looking, much of the Son genes evident, topped off with a shock of thick, black hair standing crazily all about the handsome face, generously gelled. The eyes, though, they were different. They were the same black eyes he remembered, but Trunks distinctly remembered them to be innocent, laughing, sweet eyes. Now, they just looked hard.
Trunks realized he was holding his breath in, and tried to release it casually.
“Hello Trunks.” Then Gohan smiled and it was the same face he had always remembered. Trunks fought the tears that threatened, knowing they would be a mistake. He was awash in overwhelming sadness, seeing that everything Bulma had told him was true. The guy looked rough, like he was living life on the edge, and that danger was a clear part of his every day existence.
“Hello Gohan. It’s nice to see you.”