Page 18 of Nuts

“Jesus,” he whined. “Are you a cop?”

“One taillight with no turn signals,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound as sarcastic as I felt it might have. “No problem.”

He motioned toward the monitor. “What’s that one fit?”

“This one is off a Softail Deuce, but it will fit any Softail fender,” I said. “It’s similar to the tombstone light they’ve used for years. You said your rear fender was custom. Did you fabricate it using the factory fender, or did you buy it?”

“What difference does that make?”

“It could make all the difference in the world,” I said. “If it’s an aftermarket stretched fender, the light might not fit.”

He gripped the edge of the counter with both hands, flexed his biceps, and grinned. “Explain that to me. How it would make a difference.”

I looked off to the side, and then met his gaze. “If the fender is stretched like most of them are, it follows the contour of the tire, and then, somewhere along the back of the fender, it flares outward. The back side of the taillight has the typical contour of the factory fender built into it. If you try to mount it near or on the flare, it won’t fit. The radius is going the wrong direction.”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

Why am I not surprised?

I let out a sigh, grabbed a piece of paper, and drew a symbol that resembled a question mark and a backward ‘s’ combined. Then, I drew an arrow to center of the upper curve.

“The taillight is supposed to mount here. And, it has that contour of that surface built into it. If you mount it here.” I drew an arrow to the lower leg of the symbol, where it curved inward. “It won’t fit. The contour is reversed.”

“Yeah,” he said. “My fender looks like that.”

“You’ll have to mount the light high on the fender.” I shrugged. “Might look dumb.”

“I really want that look. Anything else will look dumber.”

I looked at the monitor, and then at him. “$239.20 with all the hardware to mount it.”

“Add it to the list. If it doesn’t fit, I’ll just bring it back.”

“If it doesn’t fit, you can either build a bracket, or sell it on Craigslist,” I said. “No returns on special orders.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. Again. “Add it to the list. Fuck, I’m going to have a hundred grand in the fucker if I’m not careful.”

If he was building the bike himself, there was no way he’d have a hundred thousand dollars in it. Thirty would be more like it, and that was if he was a complete dip-shit.

“Is that the last part?” I asked.

“That’s it.”

I started adding the cost of his parts. Without looking up, I decided to entertain him. “Hundred grand, huh?”

“At least.”

“Sounds like a nice one.”

“Maybe I’ll give you a ride on it when I’m done.”

I puked in my mouth a little bit. While I reached a total, I swallowed heavily and tried to disguise my disgust.

I looked up. “Sorry, my boyfriend wouldn’t like that.”

He interlocked his fingers behind his head and flexed his biceps. “I’m sure I’ll be back in here from time to time. If something changes, let me know.”

“The total is $1,740.56.” I forced a smile. “And, I’ll be sure and do that.”