You always knew when Freddie Bauman was nearby. You didn’t need to hear his high pitched croaky voice or catch a glimpse of that thinning red hair; see his bright yellow boneshaker and he wouldn’t be far away.
The widow Henningshaw robbery shocked the community. A bright yellow bike was spotted fleeing the scene. The ugly mob surrounding Freddie’s house wasn’t in the mood to debate the evidence. His guilt had been already been decided.
Five miles outside town the stranger grinned as he inspected his bounty. The Greyhound arrived and he was gone. In the nearby weeds his recently acquired bright yellow bike lay abandoned.
This is my entry into this weeks 100 word challenge over at Friday Fictioneers