Bike Week Blues (12 page)

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
trash 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.

“I wanted to say hello. It’s been ages—”

“And it’s going to be a lot longer,” Redhead
snarled. “Shove off. I don’t have time for people like you.”

Uh oh. I could tell from the tension in
Penny Sue’s jaw that she was about to morph into a Southern Bitch.
“People like who?”

“You. Establishment fakes.”

“Fakes?!” Penny Sue squared her shoulders. I
kept my eyes on her hands to make sure she didn’t go for the gun.
Under normal circumstances, I didn’t think Penny Sue would shoot
anyone. But, she’d been acting strangely and Rich was her supposed
soul mate. Under those conditions, I wasn’t sure how far she would
go.

“Yeah, fakes. You’re not fooling anyone in
your rich girl getup. Go home to your soap operas and,” she
motioned at Ruthie and me who were standing to the side like deer
caught in headlights, “take your bubbleheaded friends with
you.”

At that second I felt a heavy arm drape
across Ruthie and my shoulders. I almost peed in my pants and given
Ruthie’s dewy lily (as Aunt Eve from Richmond put it), I sincerely
hoped she was wearing a pantiliner.

A deep voice said, “I think bubbleheads are
kind of cute.”

Sweat—er, perspiration—popped out on my
forehead as I forced my face upward into a mass of dreadlocks. It
was Sidney, the guy from the bar. And, another very tall
African-American wearing a kerchief stood behind him. Though
Sidney’s lips were stretched in a big smile, his eyes had narrowed
in a steely, no nonsense expression. He glanced from Redhead to
Spike. Redhead met his stare with an expression of pure contempt.
Sidney kept smiling.