Page 70 of Nuts

Her eyes went wide. “Has he ever been in here?”

“Yes, ma’am. He came in several times. It’s been a long time ago, though. He’s dead, you know.”

She nodded. “Do you remember where he sat?”

He gave a sharp nod, and then pointed to a large round table in the far rear of the restaurant. “Same place every time.”

“Mind if we move to that table?” she asked.

“No, Ma’am. Not at all.”

We moved to the other table and sat down.

The waiter brought our drinks. “Are you ready to order?”

“Do you know what Billy ate when he came?”

“Yes, Ma’am. The number twelve,” he said. “Every time.”

Her eyebrows raised slightly. “You’ve got a good memory.”

“Hard to forget a man like that, Ma’am. It’s been a long time, but it isn’t very often someone rides 1,500 miles to eat in your restaurant. My brother and I were gang-bangers back then. We actually started riding because of him. He was an easy man to admire.”

She grinned. “I’ll have the number twelve.”

“Bring us two of ‘em,” I said.

“It’ll just be a few minutes.”

Smudge relaxed against the back of her seat and looked around the restaurant. “I like this place.”

“I do, too. And, the fella waiting on us is nice.”

“It’s cool thinking that my dad sat here. That he ate the same food.”

“I like the thought of it.”

“I’m glad we made this trip,” she said. “I wanted answers. It’s weird, but the only answers I really got were when we were on the road.”

“You know you’re a true biker when you get far more satisfaction out of the trip than you do the destination.”

“I guess I’m a true biker, then.”

It was one more thing we had in common.

Not that I needed another reason to invite her into my life.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Joey

We’d been home from the trip for three days. As much as I enjoyed our time on the road, my unanswered questions left me feeling empty. I decided there were things about my father I would simply never find out. Accepting that decision as life’s reality, however, didn’t come easily.

We were halfway through our meal, and Percy couldn’t sit still. Fidgeting in his chair and having an attention span of no more than a few seconds, it seemed he was preoccupied with something.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to act sketchy. In fact, it was quite normal. In the past, however, he acted nervous when he was telling a story, or in deep thought. It seemed his mind worked at a speed much faster than his body, and he struggled physically to keep up the pace.

“Food’s good as fuck,” he said.