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thirteen
“Walt!” Delaney smiled as she recognized the older guy with Willie Nelson braids who entered her shop late in the evening. He had his full-size helmet tucked under his arm, which Delaney was surprised to see. She would’ve pegged Walt as the half helmet type, worn grudgingly to satisfy the law.
“Hey, Delaney.” Walt grinned, exposing crooked teeth. “Thought I’d come see how things are going.” His gaze swept over the Pioneer that was finished and waiting for its owner and the Shovelhead that Mary Sue, from the grand opening, had brought in this morning. “Looks like it’s going well.”
“It’s going okay,” Delaney said, even though it had been pretty slow. “I can’t complain.”
“Where’s ’33?” Walt toured the shop.
“You’re not going to believe this.” Delaney didn’t like to talk about it. Just speaking out loud about the missing bike made her stomach cramp. “The bike got stolen last week. Went missing out the back.” She nodded toward the storeroom. “In the middle of that bad storm we had.”
Walt smiled. “You’re kidding.” Then his smile faded. “You’re not kidding.”
Delaney shook her head.
“That’s a damn shame, kid.” He shook his head. “Any idea who took it?”
“Not really.” Delaney still didn’t think it was real. At least once a day she would go into the back room to check that the motorcycle was really gone. Once she was back there she’d spy Wyatt’s empty dog bed, and that only made her feel worse.
“You report it to the police?” Walt’s question might’ve seemed silly, but Delaney could picture him doing sit-ins in the sixties, chantingHell no, we won’t go!, so the thread of distrust that ran through his question fit as well as the gray braids.
“They’ve been here. They’re working the case. But...” Delaney trailed off, not wanting to say aloud what everybody knew about motorcycles that went missing. “The Classic Motorcycle Show at the fairgrounds is coming up fast. The grand prize will get lots of exposure, including advertising inRidemagazine. That would be so great for the business, especially since the shop is new. Plus, the bikers around here will get to see how much I know. They’ll see firsthand that I’m legit, despite anything those guys from Dude’s Bikes might have to say about me. I know ’33 would have a good shot at a ribbon.”
“I know the show. And heck, yes. Your bike would do well. And you’d meet a lot of great people who can spread the word.”
“But not if I don’t have it.”
Walt’s smile fell. “Well, damn, honey. I hope the police have some luck.” His face looked pained, like he truly felt as bad as Delaney did about the stolen bike.
“I’m glad you came in. At the grand opening, you said something about those brothers dealing more than bikes. Were you talking about drugs?”
“Well, I haven’t lived up this way in a while. Just came back to the area, but—” Walt cast a look around, even though they were alone “—word in some biker groups was Dude’s was the place to hit for all kinds of junk. Coke. Smack. You name it. They’re not good people. Have they been hassling you at all?”
Delaney shook her head. “I haven’t seen them again.”
“Good. Stay away from them.”
“They better stay away fromme.” Delaney could tell by the look on Walt’s face that he didn’t quite buy her bravado. He seemed like a concerned father, with a tinge of regret. Delaney cleared her throat and plastered a smile on her face. “I heard you roar up. What’re you riding?” She poked her head out the bay and saw a newer model black Fat Boy parked near her Ford pickup. Walt wasn’t kidding when he’d said he was a Harley guy, through and through. She stepped outside to get a closer look at the bike that glittered in the fading sunset. “What year is this?”
“Twenty-nineteen,” Walt said as he followed her outside.
“Nice.” Delaney nodded her appreciation as she toured a circle around the bike. “You got the Milwaukee-Eight. A 107 or 114?”
“It’s a 114,” Walt said proudly. He drew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped one out.
“Hell, yeah. You like it?”
“Hell, yeah.” Walt echoed with a grin. “She slings some torque.”
“I bet.”
Walt stuck a smoke between his lips and flicked open a silver lighter. “You care?” he asked, just before he put the flame to the tip.
Delaney shook her head. She’d inhaled worse over the course of her life.
“I know it’s a bad habit—” Walt sucked the cherry to life “—but I’ve been at it so long I couldn’t quit if I tried.”
Just as Delaney was about to tell Walt he was fooling himself, a familiar minivan pulled into the parking lot.
