Bike Week Blues

by Mary Clay

  Bobby fixed his gaze on Penny Sue. It was hard to tell if he was looking at her cleavage or chin. “I know you consider Rich a friend, but if he’s mixed up with Vulture and his crew—none of whom are in the running for the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval—I don’t think you really know or need Rich. Vulture and his friends are nuts.” Bobby put his elbow on the table and tilted the beer bottle into his mouth. His biceps popped out like a large melon. “I’d think twice before I’d provoke Vulture. I damn sure know you women shouldn’t trifle with him. He’s got a weird band of followers who treat him like a god. Almost a cult thing. Stay away. Rich is a big boy—let him take care of himself.”

  Penny Sue set her jaw, and her face twisted into the defiant, Annie Oakley expression. She hated being told what to do, even if it was a muscular hunk doing the telling. Crap, I thought. All of this advice was going in one ear and out the other. She was going to pursue the original plan, come hell or high water. Annie, here, was going to drag Ruthie and me along with her—I could see it coming. Damn. And, the set of her jaw said there was no way to convince her otherwise.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  No one knows exactly what to call the shopping center opposite the Pub. The sign reads NSB Regional Center, but store addresses and ads label it everything from the Wal-Mart Center to the New Smyrna Mall. It took me a couple of months to realize that all the names referred to the same place—the L-shaped shopping center across the street from the Frozen Gold, New Smyrna Harley-Davidson and the Pub. The road it skirted was just as bad. In the course of ten miles the highway changed names six times—from Turtle Mound Road to S. Atlantic to Third Avenue to the South Causeway to Lytle Avenue, finally ending up as Rt. 44. I’d encountered only one street crazier in my lifetime, and that was in Charlotte, NC. There’s a street in Myers Park that doesn’t have a simple succession of appellations, the name changes in one block, reverts to the original in the next, and then changes to something completely different a little while later.

  Whatever one called New Smyrna’s largest shopping center, all the spaces close to the highway were taken, forcing us to park between a big pick-up truck and a custom-painted van in front of Publix Supermarket. A long line of denim and leather streamed from the store pushing carts filled with beer, snacks, hoagies, and an occasional head of lettuce. Sushi might have been buried at the bottom of some carts, but it wasn’t something a true biker would advertise. As Joe, a visitor from Montana, informed us at J.B.’s, real bikers don’t eat sissy food like sushi and quiche.

  Saul had asked him if he’s ever tried wasabi. “No,” Joe said.

  “Eat a big tablespoon of that, straight. It’s the test of a true man.”

  “Yeah? What is it?” Joe’d asked.

  “A sushi condiment. Sort of like spicy guacamole.”

  Joe hadn’t been convinced, but his buddies were anxious to take the challenge. They’d left immediately for Publix to buy wabasi.

  Penny Sue popped the trunk as she got out of the car. “I’m leaving my purse, don’t want to look like a rookie.” Ruthie and I stuffed cash and a tube of lipstick into our jeans and dropped our pocketbooks into the trunk. Penny Sue paused to examine the hole in her license plate, then hunched into the trunk, working intently at something.

  “What in the world are you doing?” I asked, peeking over her should. I caught her as she slipped a holstered .38 into a black pouch belt.

  “You’re not taking that, are you? Come on, Penny Sue, guns have a way of getting you in trouble.”

  “Just a little insurance. After all, Daddy may have locked up a biker over there who’d like to get even. That’s why I carry it.”

  I knew we’d been through all of that before. Still, I didn’t like the idea of her packing a weapon. It had been nothing but trouble. “Why don’t you carry mace?”

  “Doesn’t make the same impression,” she said, slamming the truck and frowning at the license plate again. “I guess I should call my insurance agent tomorrow.” She twisted her belt so the pouch was hidden under her coat. “Come on, sooner we find Rich, the sooner we can relax and have fun.”

  “Wait,” Ruthie said weakly.

  “Don’t tell me,” Penny Sue said. “You need to shake the dew off the lily?”

  “Shake the dew off the lily?” I repeated.

  “The bathroom. That’s what my great Aunt Eve used to call it. She grew up in Richmond. Well, if ya gotta, ya gotta. Let’s go in Publix. They have nice restrooms and I need some mint breath strips. You go to the girls’ room, and I’ll get the strips.”

  Dodging carts of beer and chips, we wiggled our way into the store. Ruthie went her way and I went with Penny Sue. As I stood in the checkout line, I studied the portrait of George Jenkins, Publix’ founder. The clerks at the beachside store claimed George kept his eyes on everything and that his gaze followed you no matter where you went. I glanced sidelong at George, his eyes did seem fixed on me. I walked down the aisle to the right. The eyes followed. I met Ruthie and Penny Sue at the front door; George was still watching.

  “Let’s go,” I said, a stupid comment since Penny Sue was already well ahead of us.

  Ruthie and I hurried to catch Penny Sue, who stomped—no matter what she said about Southern belles, she was stomping, not sauntering, walking or gliding—toward the Pub. It was all Ruthie and I could do to keep up. Saul and Bobby’s warnings had, indeed, gone in one ear and out the other. Ms. Leo knew best, as usual. They were too timid, she’d said.

  Yeah, Navy Seals are timid. Right. The lady had brain damage. Or, maybe it was Ruthie and I who were mentally impaired. After all, we were the fools following her around.

  We reached the crosswalk to the Pub and found Ted directing traffic. He took my arm as I drew near. “I need to talk to you.” His tone was urgent. He must have heard about the murder.

  “Sure, do you get a break?”

  He checked his watch. “Meet me at the inside, front bar at ten-thirty.”

  I nodded, suspecting we were in for another lecture. Bobby’s was enough for me, it was Penny Sue who needed convincing.

  If you can imagine, the Pub was even more crowded than J.B’s. Motorcycles—row after row of sparkling paint and chrome—were lined up like sardines, leaving only enough space between them for the riders to get on and admirers to pass in review. Ground not taken by bikes teemed with a milling throng of leather, flesh, tattoos, colognes, and body odors. To a seagull circling high overhead—albeit a deaf gull that hadn’t been scared off by the hard, driving bass of the rock band, or the piercing whine of the motorcycle in the Wall of Death—the scene would have looked liked a roiling, boiling ant hill.

  A shirtless man with a beard to his waist and a gold front tooth bumped me. “Sorry, Babe,” he rasped with the worse halitosis I’ve ever encountered.

  I held my breath and nodded, “No problem.” Thankfully, he staggered away.

  Back to the seagull—correction: a roiling, boiling, stinky anthill.

  Penny Sue grabbed my forearm and pulled me to a small space beside the front door. “Okay, this is the plan. We’re going to weave through this crowd and look for Rich and Vulture. We’ll split up so we can cover more territory.”

  “Unh uh,” Ruthie said. “I’m not going it alone.”

  “I’m with Ruthie—I think we should stay together. With this crowd, we’d have a hard time finding each other if we got separated. Besides, Ted wants us to meet him at the front bar at ten-thirty.”

  “You’re not going to tell him about Vulture, are you?” Penny Sue asked.

  “I have a sneaking suspicion he already knows. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to have a second opinion.”

  “But, he’s one of them!”

  “One of who?” I asked crossly.

  “Them. The authorities. The police. Woody. For godssakes, Leigh, we don’t want them to know what we’re doing. It might be misconstrued, look like we’re obstructing justice.”

  “We’ll tell Ted the truth, that
we’re trying to convince Rich to go to the authorities.”

  “Will Ted believe us? Suppose he has an obligation to report this to Woody?”

  “He doesn’t like Woody any more than we do.”

  “Yeah, but he’s probably sworn an oath or something. You know, to uphold the U.S. Constitution, the Florida Constitution, the local constitution. Daddy had to swear to all that.”

  “Local governments don’t have constitutions,” Ruthie said dryly, obviously not liking the direction Penny was taking. “I told you I was not going to get involved in any dangerous stuff, especially concerning Vulture. I mean it. I’ll be on the next plane.”

  Penny Sue put her hands on her hips. “I’m not stupid.”

  She was morphing into someone, though I couldn’t tell who. I glanced at the black leather pouch around her waist. Please, not Annie Oakley again!

  “I’m not going to fool with Vulture. In fact, I don’t want to get near him, since he may recognize me. All I want is for y’all to follow him with the idea he may lead you to Rich.”

  Ruthie’s jaw dropped. “Us follow Vulture?”

  “Of course, he doesn’t know y’all from Adam or, rather, Eve. To him, you’re a pretty face in a very big crowd.”

  Jessica Fletcher, Murder She Wrote. That’s who Penny Sue was now. Okay, I’d play along, since Jessica didn’t brandish a .38. “So, what do we do if we find Vulture and he leads us to Rich?”

  “We’ll bide our time—”

  “We?” Ruthie shot back.

  “Me. I’ll bide my time and go to Rich. Explain the situation and tell him he must turn himself in for questioning.”

  “What if he won’t?”

  “He will.”

  If you’d asked me a couple of days ago, after we’d first met, I’d have said, “Yes, Rich will go to the police.” Now, after all the talk about Vulture and his twisted, anti-government cult, I wasn’t willing to bet on anything. “But, what if he won’t?”

  “He will,” she said defiantly. Then, with a shrug, “If he doesn’t, we’ve done all we can do. The future is in his hands.”

  Ruthie looked askance. “You’d walk away from him.”

  She drew up solemnly. “I’d walk away from him.”

  Ruthie chucked her on the arm. “Okay, let’s go.”

  First, we made our way to the outside Tiki Hut at the rear of the main building. “We need a drink so we don’t look conspicuous,” Penny Sue pronounced. Unfortunately, the bar, like everything else, was full. We stood to the side, waiting for an opening, when a very tall, black man with dreadlocks backed up to create a sliver of space about eight inches wide. Impossible for Rubenesque Penny Sue, questionable for me, just right for our skinny friend, Ruthie, if she turned sideways. We pushed her into the space between our benefactor and a short, balding white guy dressed in khakis and a golf shirt. Mr. Preppie was miffed; Dreadlocks wanted to flirt. Ruthie’s nervous giggles only endeared her to the big guy, who saw that her order was filled forthwith. We all thanked him profusely and backed away.

  “Never hurts to have friends,” Penny Sue said as she sipped her beer. She glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t look now, but I think Mr. Dreadlocks is following us.”

  “His name is Sidney,” Ruthie said.

  “As in Poitier?” Penny Sue asked. “He’s good looking enough to be his son.”

  Ruthie pursed her lips disgustedly. “We didn’t exchange resumes or phone numbers. And, he’s not following us. Besides, I think Sidney Poitier’s children are all girls. His oldest daughter, Beverly, lives in Roswell. I went to her book signing not long ago.

  “Well, Sidney may not be a Poitier, but he’s rich,” Penny Sue said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “His manicure. Sidney’s not your average biker. Maybe a pro ball player. I’ll bet the hair’s a wig or hair extensions.”

  “Could be.”

  Penny Sue dipped her head for another stealthy glimpse. “I see him, but he’s walking the other way. Too bad.”

  “What did you think of Saul?” I asked Ruthie, since we were on the subject of men. “I think he was attracted to you.”

  “Yeah, and his mother owns a shoe boutique that obviously carries the top of the line. Maybe he could get us discounts,” Penny Sue said.

  Ruthie pursed her lips. “Aren’t you jumping the gun a tad? I’ve only met him once, for goshsakes.” She turned to me. “Yes, I liked him. He seems very sensitive in a macho sort of way.”

  Two men on the same night. Ruthie’s planets must be in good alignment. I hoped mine were doing okay. My conversation with Ann was bothering me, not to mention the whole Rich/Vulture thing. And, what did Ted know? I checked my watch, it was only nine-thirty. I’d have to wait an hour to find out.”

  “Well, let’s get this show on the road. Where should we start?”

  “The Wall of Death,” Penny Sue said instantly.

  Geez, I didn’t like the way that sounded.

  We paid our money and walked up a ramp to the top of a giant wooden barrel. Inside a brave soul was riding a motorcycle around the wall. It made me queasy just to watch him.

  “Now, keep your eyes open,” Penny Sue instructed.

  “I’m getting dizzy.”

  “Not on him, silly.” She pointed to the rider in the pit. “We’re up here to survey the crowd. There’s no better vantage point. Turn around—we need to find Rich.”

  Good thinking. Ruthie and I did as instructed. A biker chick in cutoff jeans and a leather vest looked at me like I was crazy.

  “Vertigo,” I explained. “I’m starting to feel nauseous.”

  She gave me a dirty look and inched away. I could almost hear her mentally scream, Wuss!

  Let her think what she wanted, I’d never see her again. My back to the show, I surveyed the crowd. Short, tall, fat, thin, black, white, yellow—all of humanity was represented in the horde below. And, regardless of physical and ethnic differences, they all shared a love of motorcycles, denim, leather, and tattoos.

  A busty woman with spiked red hair caught my eye. Clad in a slinky bandeau top and leather shorts that were scalloped in the back to expose the bottoms of her buns, she swayed sensuously before the lead singer of the band.

  I pointed. “Look at that.”

  “Hmph,” Penny Sue said. “A little fanny tuck needed—”

  At that moment, the singer dropped to one knee and crooned, “Give it to me. Give it to me.” The redhead yanked her bandeau over her head revealing melon-sized breasts painted—or tattooed—with big red flowers around each nipple. The audience went wild with catcalls and shouts of “Give it to me. Give it to me.” Grinning like a Cheshire cat, she launched into a series of gyrations worthy of the best tassel twirler. Upstaged, the band segued into a bawdy rendition of I’m Your Hoochie Coochie Man, at which the woman started fumbling with the clasp on her shorts. That’s when two men—bouncers I assumed—muscled out of the crowd and hustled her away.

  My eyes almost bulged out of my head, while Ruthie’s jaw dropped to her chest. I’d heard Bike Week could get a bawdy, but I wasn’t prepared for a striptease.

  Penny Sue shook her head. “Sad. Just sad to have to stoop so low for attention. Must have had a deprived childhood. A shame. The poor dear needs counseling.”

  Maybe, but we didn’t have time to discuss it. The Wall of Death show had ended, and the spectators where ready for another drink. A surge of bodies pushed us down the ramp and half way to the Tiki Hut before we could break away.

  “Now what?”

  “We continue to look.”

  Ruthie shook her head and took the last sip of her beer. “Penny Sue, there’s no way we’re going to find Rich. First, we can hardly move, much less sneak around searching. Second, the chances of his being here, now, are miniscule. For all we know he’s on Main Street, at the Cabbage Patch—heck, he might even be at J.B.’s. This whole exercise is hopeless.” She held up her empty beer can and looked around. “We can’t find a stationary tr
ash can, much less a person on the move.”

  “I know this is a long shot, but we’ve got to try. We’ve only been at it for a few hours. What did you expect, that we’d waltz right into him? Come on, give it a little more time.” She pointed over Ruthie’s shoulder. “There’s a trash can—” Her eyes went wide. “—and Rich with that redheaded hussy!”

  Hussy? What happened to the poor dear? Penny Sue started to push past me, but I held her back. “Wait. That lady looks rough, I’m not sure you should tangle with her.”

  Penny Sue brushed my hand away. “I want to talk to Rich. What’s the big deal?”

  I glanced over my shoulder. The redhead was rubbing her once-again-clothed breasts against Rich’s chest. “She may not like your horning in on her territory.”

  “Her territory?” Penny Sue started to bulldoze by us, but Ruthie stopped her.

  “Leigh’s right. Let’s follow them and corner Rich after she leaves. No sense taking unnecessary chances. Besides, Rich is more likely to listen if you catch him alone.”

  Penny Sue looked at us and then back at the redhead. Rich was gone! She bolted, worming her way through the crowd with Ruthie and me in tow. “We’ve lost him,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “It might not have been Rich.”

  “It was, dammit!”

  Next thing I knew she’d strutted up to the redhead who had turned her attention to another man. “Come on.” I dragged Ruthie with me.

  “Excuse me,” Penny Sue said to the woman. “Was that Rich Wheeler you were talking to a minute ago?”

  “Maybe. What’s it to you?”

  “He’s an old friend from home. Do you know where he went?”

  Redhead gave Penny Sue the once over, no doubt noticing her expensive duds. “I don’t give out that kind of information.” She turned away and zeroed in on a biker with a shaved head, a spiked dog collar like Uga’s, and a long chain connecting his belt and wallet.