by Judy Clemens
“Don’t bother thanking me or anything,” Lenny said.
“I’m not sure if I should thank you or curse you.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t make much difference at this point.”
I swung my leg over the seat and got my bearings. The seat sat like a lumpy rock, but the bike fit me just fine. I turned on the fuel, made sure I was in neutral, and looked for the starter button.
“Kick start,” Lenny said.
I grimaced. “Bully for me.”
I slammed my foot down on the starter and got it going on the second try. No matter how the bike looked, it sounded fine. I gunned the throttle, tried the turn signals and the horn, and decided it would work for now. I just hoped nobody saw me on it. I cut the engine in order to save our eardrums.
“Thanks, Len,” I said.
“Hmpf.”
“Where’d you get it? How much do I owe you?”
“Same place we’re going to pick out your fork. And you don’t owe me anything, other than your undying gratitude. I just want it back when you’re done with it.”
“No argument here. It would spoil my reputation to be seen on it too often.”
Bart let out a short bark of laughter, and Lenny allowed a small smile.
“So let’s go pick up your part,” he said.
As soon as we wheeled the hideous contraption around to the parking lot I sensed trouble. Queenie was no longer sitting where I’d left her, and ominous sounds were coming from the far side of my truck. I took off running toward the growling. Lenny was on my heels, letting the bike fall to the ground with a nasty crunch. I rounded the truck’s hood to find two people plastered up against the passenger door. One of them was the bald guy who’d been at the store the other day buying the gasket kit. His hand was reaching into his vest, and I was worried about what might come out.
With him was a woman, probably about twenty, looking righteously pissed. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight braid, and flattened helmet hair wisps stuck to her forehead. She wasn’t wearing any makeup except thick black eyeliner, and the color in her face looked like it was fighting a losing battle with cigarettes and bad nutrition.
“Down, girl,” I said to Queenie.
Her growling cut back a notch, but she remained tense and focused, her tail still and solid against my leg.
“Help you folks?” I said. “Got an interest in my truck?”
The woman glared at me and ran her tongue over her teeth. The guy looked at Lenny, then at me.
“We got off our bike, there,” he said, pointing at a ratty Big Twin. “The dog backed us up against here when we was trying to get to the store.”
I put my hand on Queenie’s head. She didn’t like these people, and I wondered why. I assumed it wasn’t the bad grammar—Howie’s had been lousy at times, and the Grangers weren’t known for their stellar use of the English language. Something else must have triggered this attack. It was strange, because usually if I had to scold her, it was for being too friendly.
I glanced at Lenny and was curious to see surprise on his face, if not shock. He stared at the woman while she looked at everything but him. Her jaw was tense and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively.
“Well, sorry if the old girl here gave you a scare,” I said to the guy. “You can forget whatever you’re going for.”
He looked down at his hand as if it were acting on its own and removed it, empty, from his vest.
“S’okay,” he said. “Who knows what turns dogs on sometimes?”
Giving Queenie a last nervous glance, he edged back toward his bike. The woman hesitated long enough to give me a poisonous glare, then followed Skinny Buns.
“Who the hell are they?” I said. “Lenny?”
He didn’t hear me, because he was looking after the woman like she was something he’d last seen in a nightmare.
Chapter Twenty-one
Lenny ran and jumped into my truck like his pants were on fire.
“Follow them!” he yelled. He slammed the door, and I sprinted around to the driver’s side.
“C’mon, Queenie!” I said. She dove in ahead of me and I cranked the key, bringing the truck to life.
The skanky guy and gal, not bothering to stop for helmets, had already gotten a jump on us, having kick-started the bike and skidded out of the parking lot. I gunned the engine, but had to stop to let several cars go by before heading out. By the time I made it to the first traffic light the bike was already too far ahead of us and turned off onto another road, disappearing altogether.
I glanced over at Lenny. His face was so ashen I was afraid he was going to puke, so I quickly pulled into the Clemens Market parking lot and turned off the truck.
“You okay?”
He sat silently, blinking, his mouth hanging open.
“Len?”
His mouth closed, and he swallowed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”
I squinted at him. “You don’t look it. What was that all about?”
He blinked some more.
“Lenny!”
“I don’t…I don’t think I want to tell you anything right now.”
“Oh, really.”
He turned his head slowly toward me. “Please, Stella? Don’t push.”
I breathed in through my nose. “Okay. But are you going to be all right?”
“I’m not sure.”
At least he was honest.
“Okay. I won’t push. For now. But I want to help.”
He looked out his side window. “I know you do. But not yet.”
“Does this have something to do with the break-in yesterday?”
He chewed on his mustache. “I don’t know.”
He sure didn’t know much. Or wasn’t saying.
I turned on the truck. “Okay, tell me where we’re going. If we’re still going.”
We left the parking lot and drove, Lenny not uttering a word the entire trip except to tell me where to turn. Queenie sat between us, her front paws on his lap, her drool going all over his jeans. His big, oil-stained fingers were buried in her fur as he mulled over whatever was preoccupying him. That nasty chick, if I was right. Although it could also have been the break-in or whatever he had wanted to talk to Willard about. It seemed he had plenty on his mind. I sat quiet while he pondered.
We arrived at a huge garage about a half-hour later and drove into the empty gravel parking lot. Lenny opened his door and let Queenie jump out ahead of him, then lumbered to the ground. I locked the doors and followed.
I hadn’t known who or what to expect at this place, seeing as how Lenny was being so secretive, but the guy who showed up was far from whatever I might have imagined.
He came to the door of his gigantic warehouse, a cigar in one hand, a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other. A grin lit up his face. He looked about a hundred and fifty years old and had approximately one tooth sticking out from his upper gum. Sparse gray hair was combed to give minimal coverage to his scalp, allowing liver spots and old scars to shine right on through. He wore camouflage pants and a black T-shirt so thin I could just make out a faded skull with flames tattooed across his chest. Holey untied combat boots covered his feet.
Quite a sight.
“Hammer,” the guy said, his grin widening. “Don’t tell me this is the little woman.”
Lenny reddened, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of the use of his old street name or the thought that I could have romantic attachments to him.
“Name’s Stella,” I said, holding out my hand. “Can’t say I’ve ever let anyone call me their little woman. Even Lenny here.”
The guy laughed, and instead of taking my hand he reached out and squeezed me in a big hug. I was so surprised I stood frozen until he stepped back.
“I’ll remember that,” he said. “Shoulda thought how my old lady about decked me whenever I called her that. If I was smart I woulda just called her General.”
“This
here’s Mal,” Lenny said, hooking a thumb toward his friend. “Mal Whitney. We go way back.”
“You can call me Sweetheart,” Mal said.
I gave him a level stare.
“Everybody does,” he said. “Believe me.”
“It’s true,” Lenny said.
Mal wiggled his eyebrows. “Ladies can’t leave me alone.”
Lenny snorted. “Fifty years ago, maybe.”
“I think I’ll stick to Mal, if that’s okay,” I said.
“Suit yourself.”
“Anyhow,” Lenny said, “you got a bowl we could give the dog? I don’t want to let her out in the heat without any water.”
“Hell, bring her in here,” Mal said. “I got a nice big fan she can sit in front of. Come on, princess.”
I started, wondering how he knew Howie’s old nickname for me, but quickly realized he was talking to Queenie.
Shaken, I followed Mal—who veered to the right as he walked but somehow avoided running into anything—into his domain, Lenny clumping along behind me. When I got through the door I stopped in my tracks so fast Lenny gave me a flat tire. As I fixed my shoe I gazed at the room, awestruck.
The garage was as big as my largest barn, about eighty by a hundred twenty, and was filled end to end with bikes. Old, new, in pieces. Harleys, Indians, piles of parts, unidentifiable wrecks. I’d never seen so many bikes in one place in my entire life.
“Kinda makes you want to pray, don’t it?” Mal said.
I turned to Lenny. “I take it this is where that heap back at the Barn came from.”
Mal laughed again. “Ain’t pretty, is she? But she’ll get you where you need to go until yours is back on the road.”
“Lenny told you my story?”
“Enough of it.” He gave me what I interpreted as a sympathetic look, but it was so quick I could’ve been mistaken. He veered farther right, gesturing me forward. “Here’s what you came for.”
Two perfectly straight and relatively unscathed forks lay on a work table. Mal flicked a rag over them and stood back. “Not show pieces, but as good as they come health-wise.”
I checked them out. Nothing a good buffing and a coat of polish wouldn’t fix. The one on the right had one small dinger I didn’t like, so I pointed at the other.
“I’ll take that one. What do I owe you?”
He gave me a figure and I pulled out the cash I’d gotten at the ATM on the way. It hurt to part with the bills, but the pain dwindled when I reminded myself I was one big step closer to having a ride-able bike. Besides, there was still a chance insurance would come through for it, seeing how the accident wasn’t my fault.
Mal reached over to grab a receipt from a drawer and the sleeve on his T-shirt rode up, exposing his biceps and the diamond-shaped tattoo emblazoned there. I blinked with surprise, wondering if Lenny had known about it. Any self-respecting biker would recognize the tattoo—a diamond surrounding the number one. If Lenny and Mal had been friends for so long, I figured Lenny’d have to know Mal was, or had been, a one-percenter. I also wondered why, if Lenny was so against one-percenters, he was doing business with this guy. Lenny didn’t have that tattoo. I would’ve noticed.
Mal finished scribbling the receipt and handed it to me. I dragged my gaze from his tattoo and tried to keep questions out of my eyes.
“Have a look around, if you want,” Mal said.
I glanced over to see if Lenny would follow, but he sat down with Queenie in front of the big fan and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and clasping his hands over his stomach. It didn’t look like he was worried about my safety with Mal, although that could have been because Mal was as old as my great-grandfather and on a good day I could go a round or two with The Rock, rather than that he thought Mal was a real upright kind of guy.
Seeing how I didn’t want to interrupt Lenny’s beauty sleep and I really was curious, I took Mal up on his offer to browse. Walking down the rows of bikes, Mal following, I marveled at the sheer volume of his stock and the amount of money the collection represented. I hoped his insurance was up to date. I stopped at a pretty group of white Harley Police Specials.
“Where’d these beauties come from?” I asked.
“Precinct was getting a fleet fitted with the new engine,” Mal said. He took a swig of JD. “Parts on these are too old to fit the new bikes, so I got this bunch real cheap. Guy on the force owed me a favor.”
He showed me a smile I was afraid to read too closely, and I moved on. I oohed and aahed over a beautiful Indian, laughed along with him at a Wide Glide with a naked woman painted on the tank, and took a test seat on a lovely Heritage Softtail before coming to a bike that was as ugly as the one Lenny had gotten for me.
“Sister to the one you got,” Mal said, grinning. “Came from the same police sale. The Man took ’em from a coupl’a small-time drug dealers he busted a ways back. Good for parts or for a pinch like you’re in.”
“Yeah, it’s real nice for Lenny to find me a scooter.”
“Heart o’ gold.”
We were at the opposite end of the building from Lenny and the fan would drown out anything we said, so I took a chance and asked Mal how he knew Lenny.
“Rode together for years,” Mal said. “Like a brother to me.” He saw the look on my face. “Okay, like a son.”
I figured I wouldn’t push it.
He got a faraway look in his eyes, and a little smile creased his wrinkles. “Had me a sweet little lady then. Most beautiful gal I ever owned. Shame she didn’t age as well as I’d hoped. Wife finally said she’d dump me if I didn’t get rid of her.”
I bristled, his attitude offensive, even for an old-timer.
“Shiny little Sporty,” he said, sighing. “Red and black, just the right amount of leather and chrome.”
I almost laughed out loud, but was afraid to break his spell.
“Had me a right good line of rides after her,” Mal said. “But none came close to her place in my heart.” He pounded the fist with the cigar gently on his chest.
“Lenny rode a real beast back then, as I recall,” he said. “Chopped almost to the frame, it was.” He shook his head. “Glad his taste has gotten better over the years.”
“You guys ride with a local club?”
His head snapped toward me, and he came back to the present.
“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand, scattering cigar ash. “A local club.” He turned abruptly and started veering back toward the other end of the building. “We had a good time, while it lasted. You take your time, look at whatever you want.”
He angled his way toward Lenny and eased down beside him. Lenny’s eyes opened and I saw the same worry he’d had when we left the Biker Barn. His little snooze hadn’t helped anything.
I meandered back toward them, taking my time, since they had immediately gotten involved in what looked like an intense and personal discussion. I hoped I hadn’t caused it by inquiring into Lenny’s background.
I was down to the front end of the building, checking out a scary-looking chopper and trying to ignore the guys, when Mal’s voice echoed through the building.
“My God, Hammer, you’re shittin’ me!”
I glanced up sharply, only to see Lenny making gestures to Mal to keep it down. I frowned to myself. I didn’t like Lenny keeping secrets from me.
I headed back down the aisle, keeping the guys in view, and Lenny shot me an uneasy glance. Mal’s face had gone white, and his hand clenched around his bottle.
“Len?” I said.
He closed his eyes and shook his head, sighing deeply.
“Okay, brother,” he said to Mal. “We gotta go.”
Mal looked up at Lenny, his eyes blank. “What?”
Lenny enunciated very clearly. “We have to go.”
Mal looked up at me then, and his eyes focused. “My goodness, where are my manners?” He pushed himself up from the floor and tried to smile, but his easygoing man
ner now seemed forced.
Lenny looked at the floor, running his hands through his mane. “You’re never gonna die, are you, old friend?”
Mal smiled. “Lord willing, my man, I’ll be around another fifty years.” Again, the attempt at light-heartedness didn’t work.
Lenny held out his hand and Mal gave it one of those shakes where you grab the other guy’s wrist instead of his hand, and they looked each other straight in the eye.
“You take care, now, Sweetheart,” Lenny said. “And thanks for helping out my friend here.”
Mal saluted with his Jack Daniels hand. “Anything for you, buddy. I mean that.”
Lenny went to the counter and hoisted the fork over his shoulder, heading for the door.
“Thanks, Mal,” I said.
“You got it, baby.”
I waited, but his eyes didn’t rise to meet mine.
Chapter Twenty-two
“I need ice cream,” I said.
“What?” Lenny gazed dully at me from the passenger seat. He’d been comatose most of the trip back, Queenie whining intermittently and sniffing his chin. I wanted to know what was going on with him, and if I took him back to work, he’d split as soon as we got there.
“And I need it here.” I swung into the parking lot of an ice cream stand a few miles from the Barn. It had been around as long as I could remember, a popular spot, the surrounding grass peppered with picnic tables and overshadowed by big trees. A haven amid the hustle and bustle of suburbia.
“I don’t want ice cream,” Lenny said.
I hopped out of the truck, and Queenie bounded out behind me. I knew Lenny would follow if I ignored him.
I was right. By the time I picked a line—the shorter of the two—he was behind me, staring blankly at the placard listing 33 flavors.
The picnic area was filled with kids and moms, some more messy than others. A favorite hang-out after school, I guessed.
Moms to the front and side of us in the line glanced nervously our way, clutching their children to their khakis. I tried to shut them out, but it was hard, seeing as how they were leaving a circular hay bale’s space around us.