“Sounds about right to me, dude.”
“And, I think that Martha McGill will not find the peace she deserves until this whole mess is put to bed.”
“Yeah,” Stitch agreed. “That old chick needs to go on to the next phase, man.”
“So,” Crockett continued, “you go in with a broken bike, hang around, tell ‘em about the rich guy you work for and how he’s just come to town, you stay vague about how I make my huge piles of money and generate a little curiosity who and what we are. Meanwhile, we move into the monstrosity along with Danni and a friend of hers, and set ourselves up…”
“Wait a minute. Danni and a friend of hers?”
“Yeah. I don’t remember her name, but she and Danni used to work together.”
“Two chicks?”
“Yeah. Two attractive young women to be seen with me. ‘Arm charm’ is the way Danni put it, I think.”
“Oh! Okay. That makes sense, man. Where’s ol’ Satin gonna be?”
“At the cabin. She’s volunteered to take care of the cat and dog and watch out after the place while we’re off being rich.”
Stitch grinned. “She ain’t gonna be our maid, dude?”
“You go right ahead and offer her the position if you want to,” Crockett said. “I’ll heat water and get the first-aid kit.”
“No thanks, man. Her daughter damn near killed me, and she was bein’ nice.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Crockett spent the rest of the day slowly accumulating the things he’d need to make the move. On one pass through the kitchen area he stopped to refill his coffee in time to see Stitch hang up the phone.
“Who was that?”
“Ah, I was just givin, ol’ Clete the, like, go-ahead, man.”
“The go-ahead?”
“Yeah.”
“For what?”
“To ship the cars.”
“The cars?”
“Yeah. I, like, got the address from the paperwork that ol’ dude in the hat had.”
“The cars.”
“Yeah. But ya can’t keep ‘em, Crockett. They’re, like, rented or somethin’, dude.”
“What cars?”
“They’ll deliver ‘em day after tomorrow, man. Somebody’ll, like, havta be there, ya know?”
“Stitch, what cars?”
“The ones Clete’s sendin’, man.”
Crockett’s frustration surfaced. “Jesus Christ, Stitch. What fucking cars?”
“Oh wow, man! You don’t know, do ya?”
“It would seem that I do not.”
“The Ford and the Mercedes, dude.”
“The Ford and the Mercedes.”
“Yeah. The ones you said you needed.”
“What?”
“You said you might need some transportation to, like, impress these assholes, man. Clete’s sendin’ ya a Ford and a Mercedes. Where you been, dude?”
To keep from tearing out what little hair he had left, Crockett quietly sat down and lit a Sherman. He looked at Stitch.
“Tell me about the Ford,” he said.
“Aw, it’s cherry, man. Really beautiful, ya know?”
“A Ford.”
“Yeah! A 1964 T-Bird rag-top, dude. Fire engine red with a white interior. Completely restored to, you know, like, new. Even got them skinny whitewalls, man. 390, four-barrel, swing away steering wheel, white top, carpet, and leather. Way cool, dude. Out-fucking-standing, ya know?”
“Wow.”
“No shit, wow. Ha!” Stitch said, and began to walk away.
“Wait a minute. What about the Mercedes?”
“Oh, yeah. Clete’s sendin’ ya one a them, too.”
Crockett rubbed his forehead and stared at the countertop for a moment.
“Stitch,” he said, “what kind of Mercedes is Clete sending me?”
“Ah, it’s a M-class, man.”
“An M-class.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know what that is, Stitch. Perhaps you should explain.”
“Sure, dude. It’s, like, a SUV, man. Six speed auto tranny, electronic all-wheel drive, ah, all tricked out an’ a pretty good off-roader. Gotcha the big gas motor, too, Slick. 6.3 liter V8. Five hundred and three horse power. That fucker’ll crank, ya know?”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah! About ninety grand, man.”
“Ninety thousand dollars?”
“Yeah. It’s fairly cheap. The T-bird’s worth well over a hundred thou, dude.”
“What?”
“Yeah. “The Mercedes is nice, Crockett, but it wasn’t my pick.”
“It wasn’t?”
“Nah. I wanted to get ya the Mercedes SLR McLaren Roadster, man, but it was pretty costly, ya know?”
“How costly?”
“Ah, its base price is almost a half a mil, dude.”
“Five hundred thousand dollars?”
“Yeah. So Clete got ya the M-class.”
“I see.”
“He got a Ford, too, man. A ’64 red convertible T-Bird, dude. 390, four-barrel, white interior…”
“Stitch?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you taking your medication?”
“My what?”
Crockett stared at him for a moment. Stitch grinned.
“Gotcha, dude,” he said, and walked away.
The girls returned in the late afternoon. Crockett and Stitch unloaded the truck while they sat in the kitchen drinking iced tea. After the groceries were put away, there were still several bags left.
“What else did you two spendthrifts bring home,” Crockett asked.
“Mostly things for you,” Satin said, kissing him on the cheek.
“Me?”
“Sure. A nice pair of Italian loafers, a pair of hand-sewn buffalo suede chukka boots, three pairs of designer jeans, five safari-style Egyptian cotton shirts, a couple of lightweight alpaca sweaters, two pairs of cargo slacks, some socks that are not white, and other stuff. A couple of windbreakers, belts, a Seiko chronograph with an alligator band, some good sunglasses. The best The Plaza had to offer.”
“I got clothes upstairs,” Crockett grumbled.
“You have Crockett clothes. You did not have rich-guy clothes. Now you do.”
“Aw, Jesus. How much did all that cost?”
“Including Danni’s stuff, the Levi jacket we got for Stitch, and your…”
“You guys got me a new Levi jacket?” Stitch said.
Satin smiled. “Sorta,” she said, as Danni handed him a bag.
Stitch pulled out a Levi-style jacket in medium brown goat-skin, as pliable as linen, as durable as cowhide, and as light as denim.
“Oh, wow, man! This is, like, just fuckin’ right, ya know? Far out!”
Stitch got to his feet and kissed both ladies on the cheek.
“So,” Satin went on, “Danni’s stuff, your stuff, Stitch’s jacket, and a couple of little things for me, all came to around six thousand dollars. Maybe seven. I haven’t added up all the receipts yet.”
“Holy shit!”
“Live a little, you grouch,” Satin went on. “You needed this stuff to be who you’re supposed to be. These are nice clothes, Crockett. You’ll like ‘em.”
“Who’s gonna iron the shirts?”
“A dry cleaner, you cave man. And the slacks, and the jeans. Give up. You’re not gonna win this one.”
Crockett glared at her for a moment. Satin laid a shit-eating grin on him and blew him a kiss.
“Oh, hell,” Crockett muttered.
“There’s a good boy,” Satin said. “What a sweetie.”
“All right, all right. Figure up how much all this cost and I’ll write you a check.”
“Big Sur Imports’ll write her the check, man,” Stitch said. “Daniel Beckett will sign it.”
“Just once I’d like to know what it’s like not to be out numbered.”
Danni smiled at him. “Fat chance,” she said.
An hour or so after a l
ate supper, Stitch and Danni headed for the trailer and Satin pulled out clothes for Crockett to try on. It went better than she thought it would.
“This is really nice stuff.”
“There’s more reason than just the label to account for the cost,” Satin said.
“The jeans and pants fit great, I love these shirts, and I don’t wear sweaters,” Crockett went on. “But I’ll wear these. The loafers won’t cut it though.”
“They won’t?”
“Sorry. Slip-on type shoes aren’t secure enough for my fake foot. They can come off too easily. I need something more substantial.”
“Are the chukkas okay?”
“Oh yeah. They’re fine.”
“I’ll take the loafers back and get another pair of the boots. They have them in oxblood, too.”
“Great. All bullshit aside, Sweetheart. It was very thoughtful of you to do this.”
“Naw,” Satin replied, rooting around in a bag and retrieving a black jeweler’s box. “It was necessary. You’d have just screwed it up. This is thoughtful.”
Crockett took the box from her hand and opened it. Inside was a massive I.D. bracelet on a heavyweight chain. Engraved on the panel was one word. “Beckett.” The tag read 22-carat gold.
“Damn,” Crockett breathed, turning the bracelet over in his hands.
“The jeweler assured me it would be no problem to buff off the engraving and replace it with another name,” Satin said. “When all this is over, we might consider that.”
Crockett smiled. “I think we might.”
“And the bracelet does not go on the list,” Satin went on. “It is from me.”
As Crockett lifted his head to look at her, he felt a tear slide down the left side of his face.
“Aw,” Satin said. “What a softy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Over the next two days, Crockett moved into the rental house, got used to the area, and settled in. On the third morning, Stitch called to relate he was headed out on his old Moto Guzzi to pay a visit to Leoni’s Cycles and would swing by the new place when he was done. Crockett drove back to Hartrick and stopped in Wagers Café for a late breakfast. Danni got his order in and returned to the booth.
“Hey!” she said. “You guys all squared away?”
“Pretty much.”
“Great. When can I come visit?”
“That’s why I stopped by, kiddo. Got a minute?”
“I will have. Let me do a couple of chores, then I’ll sit with you while you have breakfast.”
Ten minutes later Crockett looked at Danni over his biscuits and gravy.
“Ready to change jobs?”
Danni grinned. “I’m ready if you are,” she said, running the tip of her tongue along her front teeth. “You think you can handle bein’ my sugar daddy?”
“Oh, God. It’s bad enough I can’t get away from your mother. Now this.”
“You and Mom are a mess,” Danny said. “I get off on just watching the two of you. You guys really love each other, huh?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Crockett said. “It makes me queasy.”
“When do I move in, Daddy?”
“Soon, I guess.”
“Want me to make sure Whisper is in town? One of us on each arm could double your pleasure.”
“Oh, hell. Yeah, and be sure and let her know that we’re gonna have to move on this in the next day or two. This is serious business. She needs to understand that.”
“Gotcha. Just so you know, Whisper might take her new gig seriously.”
It took Crockett a moment to grasp what Danni said.
“What?”
“I said that…”
“I know what you said. You mean that Whisper might, ah…really?”
“It could happen. Scared?”
“Yeah. Especially of your mother. Straighten this out, willya? Make sure Whisper knows that this is an appearances type thing only.”
Danni chuckled. “I’ll take care of it,” she said. “What a wuss.”
Crockett was sitting in his new living area, watching the Starship Enterprise slide slowly by on a television screen only slightly smaller than a billboard, while the entire seven-foot couch on which he rested vibrated from the power of an unseen subwoofer, as Stitch walked through the sliding doors of the towering glass wall that made up the front of the A-frame.
“Oh, wow, man!” Stitch said, adjusting to the shock of the sound system. “That shit could shake fillings loose. Far out! Turn it up, willya?”
Crockett punched the remote control just as the Enterprise eased out of space dock and began to accelerate on impulse power. The air seemed to thicken in density with the volume. Stitch, fighting against the wall of sonic vibration, struggled across the room as if battling a mighty wind, finally gaining the couch and collapsing on its suede leather while gasping for breath. Grinning, Crockett hit the pause button.
“Thanks a lot, dude,” Stitch wheezed. “Man, I hope I can still have babies!”
Crockett shook his head. “Cheech n’ Chong, hippie. Get your own material.”
“Nice to know you been exposed to some good theater, man,” Stitch said, getting to his feet and heading toward the kitchen. “Got any Coke or Pepsi?”
“In the small fridge next to the bar sink by the wine chiller.”
“Aw, sure dude. That’s where I always keep mine. What’s in them other iceboxes?”
“The one on the right side of the range is a double fridge. The one on the left side is a double zero-degree freezer.”
“Fuck! This stove’s got, like, eight burners, man!”
“Better seven too many than one not enough.”
“And what’s with all them ovens?” Stitch asked, peering at the stainless steel collection built into the brick wall to the left of the zero freezers.
“Near as I can guess, the bottom one is a regular oven, the middle one is infra-red and convection, and the top one is a microwave. One must have sufficient ovenage, dear boy.”
“Man, the fuckers that own this crib are spoiled fuckin’ rotten, dude. No shit, ya know? Where do I crash?”
“At the far end of the west wing, old thing,” Crockett replied in a broad British accent. “Past the garage in the servants’ warren. Wouldn’t do to have you too close to the main house. Must keep up appearances, you see. It’s a small place, but we do love it so.”
“Maybe you forget where I live, man,” Stitch replied, flopping on the couch. “This cracker box could damn near fit in Ivy’s atrium. Hell of a difference between big rich an’ little rich.”
“I prefer my cabin,” Crockett said.
“Me, too.”
“You go to that cycle shop?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me about it.”
Stitch grinned. “I gotta take my sled in day after tomorrow. Turn the movie back on first, dude,” he said. “I wanna hear what happens when they hit warp drive, ya know?”
Crockett released the pause button and watched Stitch writhe on the couch as the Enterprise accelerated on her way. Just as he stopped the movie, his cell phone went off. Danni calling.
“Danielle. What’s up?”
“I got in touch with Whisper. She’s been outa town working in L.A. for a couple weeks. Says she could use a break. She knows everything is just for appearances. Said that was fine with her. She can give you a month or two and can start any time. How’s ten grand sound?”
“Ten grand for a month’s vacation?”
Danni chuckled. “Yeah. Cash.”
“Fine. How ‘bout you?”
“Me? This is a favor, Crockett. I’ll do it for five.”
“How’s fifteen sound?”
“I was just kidding! I’ll do it for free.”
“Fifteen or the deal is off.”
“No shit? Fifteen grand for a month?”
“Yep. Gotta get your kid fund built up.”
“You drive a hard bargain, but I guess I’m in.”
“Might wind up being more than a month, kiddo. Maybe less. No way to tell right now.”
“I don’t know about Whisper, but I’m with ya for as long as it takes.”
“Great. You know where the place is?”
“Mom’ll tell me.”
“Fine.”
“Okay, Davey-Dear. You rest up and get ready for us. You old guys gotta watch your stamina and shit. Got any of those little blue pills?”
“Goodbye, Danni.”
“That’s Rascal to you, honey,” Danni purred. “Take your vitamins. ‘Bye.”
Crockett put the phone down. “Shit,” he groaned.
“’Sup, dude?” Stitch asked.
“The girls are coming out tomorrow or the next day.”
“Far out.”
“Far out, my ass. Danni is having way too much fun with this. She wanted to know if I had any little blue pills.”
Stitch grinned. “Do ya?” he asked.
“What? No.”
“That’s a shame, man. She gets all wound up playin’ a role with you and then decides to take it out on me, I might need some.”
“What the hell makes you think I give a shit about your personal problems?” Crockett said.
“Two cuties runnin’ around here, gonna be tough on you, man, I doan care if one of ‘em is your lady’s daughter. You know the biggest difference between you an’ me, Crockett?”
“No. What?”
“I ain’t scared a Danni’s mom.”
“You gonna tell me about the Leoni bike shop or not?”
“You changin’ the subject, man?”
“Damn straight.”
“It’s kinda hinky, Crockett. I talked with a couple a the guys there. They do restorations an’ shit. Got a couple a old scooters settin’ around for sale. Harley rides. West coast shit. Springer an’ a Knucklehead. Only two new bikes on the floor. Both Guzzies. Thing is, shops that do that kind work, with no more stock than they got, are usually just holes in the wall, ya know? Old gas stations or rusty metal buildings. This shop is bigger than it should be, Crockett. A lot nicer, too. Three or four mechanics there, couple a cats hangin’ out, parts guy. The owner wasn’t around. They ain’t doin’ enough business to support the place, man. At least not enough business that I could see. Figured that when I took my ride in, you might come by an’ pick me up. They’re gonna need it for a few days.”
UnderCover Page 18
