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Miguel waved a hand at him, like,Go for it.
“Cool.” The third woman, who’d been silent thus far, glanced around the shop. “This is so great. You being here. The guys who owned this shop before you were total douchebags. They treated any woman who came in here like a child who didn’t know what she was doing. Don’t you worry for a second about the crap they’re spreading about you. We don’t believe a word of it.”
Delaney’s movements slowed. She caught Sean’s eye as he put down the kickstand, setting the bike in the center of the floor. She raised a hand in a brief wave, then turned back to the woman. “What don’t you believe a word of?”
The ladies turned their heads, following her gesture. They didn’t wave, only eyed Sean and Miguel with suspicion. Sean didn’t blame them. He’d been on the job long enough to decide that if he were a woman, he’d eye every single male he came across with that same look. “The Dude’s Bikes guys.” The tallest lady of the bunch chimed in. “They’re in tight with the Old Glory Riders and the Commonwealth Cruisers. Those are the biggest biker groups around here. They pull a lot of weight. Run most of the shows and are tight with some of the motorcycle cops. The Dudes have been telling them you’re all talk and no walk. That you don’t really know how to fix bikes.”
“That you’ll be out of business within a few months,” the woman with the authoritative voice added.
Delaney’s face paled, her mouth turning down at the corners. “They don’t even know me,” she said, her voice soft, like she spoke more to herself than to anyone else.
“Doesn’t matter. If they don’t like you, the dudes from Dude’s will trash you five ways from Sunday.”
“And people just believe them?” Delaney caught Sean’s eye again, but quickly looked away.
“Like I said, they pull a lot of weight,” the tall lady said. “It’s a boy’s club, hon. We all know how that goes.”
The woman who’d bought the gloves placed her hand over top of Delaney’s, which was fisted on the counter. “We don’t believe a word of it. And now that we’ve been here we’re going to share our experience with everyone we know. Counteract their douchebag lies.”
Delaney was quiet after that, her gaze flitting around the shop, like she didn’t know where to settle. Finally, she drew a deep breath. “Thanks, ladies. I appreciate the heads-up. And the business. You all come back, okay?”
“Definitely.”
“Don’t you worry, hon. We got your back.”
“And don’t forget about the classic bike show coming up soon. At the fairgrounds. You could enter one of your bikes or maybe get a vendor stall. Get your foot in the door.”
Right. The Classic Motorcycle Show. Delaney had not forgotten.
The women collected their gear and merchandise. Their goodbyes were all staggered as they headed out, brushing past Sean with a mumbled greeting. They paused, briefly, to admire the bike.
“This your Shovelhead?” the lady with the flyers said.
“Yep.” Sean wanted to be polite, but his attention was on Delaney, his mind running through everything he’d just heard.
“Nice.”
“Thanks.”
“Morning, Detective.” Delaney came from behind the counter and walked over. “I don’t suppose you heard any of that.” Her face was still pale, her eyes narrowed with anger, confusion, maybe some fear.
“I heard everything,” Sean said. “But don’t worry about it. I guarantee you I know more motorcycle cops than they do. You want me to find out if they’re full of shit or not?” Sean made a mental note to dig back into the Dudes to see how many ways he could make their lives miserable.
Delaney drew a deep breath, closed her eyes briefly, then reopened them like she’d shoved everything down. She tried a smile. “Nope. I can handle this. I’ve got to stand on my own two feet if I’m going to make this happen, right?”
“I know you can handle it. I’d just put my ear to the ground in the department is all.”
“Don’t waste your time. They’re full of crap.” Her last words wavered a little, but she spoke quickly, changing the subject. “Is this the Disc Glide?” She turned to the bike, excitement lighting her face, despite the conversation.
“This is it. And that—” Sean pointed at Miguel, who wandered the perimeter of the shop, checking out the merchandise and the pictures on the walls “—is Miguel. He helped me get the bike here.”
Miguel turned and waved. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Delaney waved back as she walked around the bike in a circle. She ran a hand over the seat, then squatted down, eyes narrowed, as she gave the motorcycle the same appraisal Sean would a crime scene. “Holy shit,” she breathed. “You really do own an ’83 Willie Glide.”
“Told you so.” Even though Sean hadn’t known it was a big deal at the time, he’d looked the bike up since she first mentioned it being rare, and had found out she was right. This motorcycle was one of a handful.
“Holy shit,” Delaney said again. “The oxblood color is amazing in the sunlight, just like they say.” With the bay door open, the bike basked in a pool of morning rays.
