Bike Week Blues

by Mary Clay

  I said a silent prayer to the spirits that Ruthie claimed watched over us all: Please guys, cut us some slack. Let this not be like old times!

  Sadly, Penny Sue’s desires must have carried more weight than mine.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  The Royal Treatment was a misnomer—the proper term was heavenly. Three and a half hours of saunas, whirlpools, massage, facials, and paraffined feet left us warm, glowing, and as limp as overdone pasta. We made it to the car, then just sat, too relaxed to move.

  “Wouldn’t you like to stretch out and go to sleep?” Ruthie asked.

  “Yeah, I feel like a side of Kobe beef,” Penny Sue said, forehead resting on the steering wheel.

  I bit my lip. She said it, I didn’t! Kobe beef came from Japanese cattle raised on beer and massaged with sake. Its claim to fame was the sweet taste and extensive fat marbling. That she’d call herself sweet was no surprise, to admit to being fat marbled was another matter.

  Penny Sue finally mustered enough strength to drive the four miles to the condo where we tumbled into bed. Three hours later, refreshed and dressed for dinner, we gathered in the living room. I brought out my presents for Ruthie to open. Penny Sue poured wine into plastic cups that she placed on Lu Nee 2’s upraised arm and tray. Unfortunately, she still hadn’t mastered the robot’s controls. It bumped into a stool, exclaimed, “Whoops. Where did that come from?” and all three cups went tumbling. “Darn, that Chardonnay cost thirty bucks a bottle.”

  Considering we were down to one glass apiece of the expensive stuff and running short on time, we convinced Penny Sue that she should work with Lu Nee later. With wine in stemmed glasses that we fetched ourselves, the three of us toasted Ruthie’s birthday. Though my presents, price-wise, paled next to Penny Sue’s gifts, Ruthie seemed to like them. Her eyes went wide at the black, stretch biker shirt with the zipper down the front.

  Penny Sue took the top and held it up against Ruthie. “This and your Moschino jeans are perfect for Bike Week.”

  Anything’s perfect with two hundred dollar jeans, I thought. Even the paper gown the gyno gave you would look good with Moschinos. I handed her the next present, a copy of The Book of Answers which I’d picked up at Chris’ Place, a New Age shop on Flagler Avenue. The book was basically a super-duper rendition of the old eight ball oracle—you asked a question and opened the book at random for the answer. Ruthie immediately closed her eyes, stroked the book’s cover, and snapped it apart. The page read, IT WILL BRING GOOD LUCK. Ruthie giggled. “I asked what the next year held for me.”

  “May I try it?” Penny Sue asked, already taking the book from Ruthie’s hand. She closed her eyes and stroked the volume as Ruthie had done. Her lips moved slightly, then she peeled the pages apart dramatically. Ruthie and I leaned forward to see. CIRCUMSTANCES WILL CHANGE VERY QUICKLY. Penny Sue smiled smugly. “I asked what would happen to my relationship with Rich. This must mean we’ll get back together soon.”

  Ruthie nodded tentatively. An intuitive Pisces, something clearly bothered her about the answer. Penny Sue must have picked up on the feeling, too.

  “I think I’ll ask for clarification.” Penny Sue massaged the book like Kobe beef. YOU’LL NEED TO TAKE THE INITIATIVE, the page read. Penny Sue pouted. “Now I’m confused. Do you think this means I should call Rich?”

  “Ask again,” Ruthie said.

  Penny Sue’s squinched her eyes shut with intense concentration. MOVE ON, came the response.

  I snatched the book from her. “No doubt about that—it’s time to eat. Come on, our reservation is at seven, and with all the bikers, it’ll take twice as long to get there.” Penny Sue followed reluctantly, glancing back at the book as she picked up her purse and car keys.

  * * *

  A round, linen-draped table had been set up on the deck next to the railing. A peach-colored napkin folded in the shape of a bird graced each plate that was flanked by an assortment of silverware and stemmed glasses. A wine bucket cradled an ice packed bottle of Dom Perignon. Our three chairs were placed on one side of the table, providing each of us with a view of the marina. Unfortunately, a huge centerpiece of yellow roses, baby’s breath, and ferns surrounding a single, glass daffodil stood between us and the pristine view.

  “No boats are docked,” Ruthie observed, taking her seat in the middle.

  “Yeah,” Penny Sue muttered with an edge of disappointment.

  I exhaled with relief, silently thanking the spirits. This would not be like the last time when a big yacht and yachtsman caught Penny Sue’s eye.

  A plethora of champagne, wine, appetizers, salads, and entrees, all topped off by cake and an after dinner drink left us feeling full, fat, and limp again. “Coffee. We need coffee,” Penny Sue groaned. She turned, raising her hand for the waiter, then froze, eyes locked on the walkway that led from the deck to the street. “That’s Rich,” she exclaimed. She tossed her napkin on the table and pushed back her chair.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “The oracle said things would change quickly, and I should take the initiative. I’m doing just that.”

  She barreled across the deck and around the corner like a track star. Okay, slight exaggeration. How about a middle-aged woman with incontinence? Anyway, I was surprised at how fast she could move considering the huge dinner she was hauling. I said before that testosterone affected Penny Sue like Prozac—perhaps Prozac laced with an amphetamine was a more accurate description.

  The waiter arrived. Ruthie and I ordered three decafs. “Boy, I hope it goes well with Rich,” Ruthie said, stirring her coffee.

  “You got bad vibes about the things will change quickly prediction. What exactly did you feel?”

  “Something dark and sinister. I can’t put my finger on it, but it wasn’t happy.”

  I stared out over the water, considering. Though I poked fun at some of Ruthie’s metaphysical convictions, I did believe that everyone possessed intuition or an unconscious link with the truth, the Universe, or whatever you wanted to call it. Sure, the ability was more developed in some people, but everyone had it. How else could a person, like myself, walk up to a half-finished jigsaw puzzle, pick a piece seemingly at random, and miraculously put it in place? The act took a mere second or two, not enough time for the logical mind to sort though possibilities. It happened all the time, which was one reason I liked puzzles—for the magical, enchanted rush. No question, the unconscious mind was hooked into a vast store of information. Whether it was spirit guides, as Ruthie said, or Jung’s collective consciousness, or psychic abilities I wasn’t certain. But, I knew things from time-to-time, like a sixth sense, and Ruthie was particularly gifted in that department.

  “What’s Penny Sue doing now?” I asked Ruthie.

  “She’s frustrated.”

  Penny Sue rounded the corner at that exact moment, red faced from exertion.

  “No luck?” I asked casually.

  Penny Sue poured a dollop of cream in her coffee and stirred vigorously. “I lost him.” The stirring increased in intensity. At that rate, the cream might soon turn to butter. “His message said he was going out of town for a few days.” Her spoon clanged on the sides of the cup. I reached over and held her hand still. She took the hint and put the spoon down. “He’s still registered at the hotel,” she said, lips narrowed.

  “That doesn’t mean a thing. He obviously hasn’t left. Besides, this is Bike Week—all of the hotels are booked solid. He’ll keep the room while he’s gone, knowing he’ll never find another when he returns.”

  She blew her coffee before tasting it. “Why didn’t he stop by to say ‘Hi?’”

  “He probably didn’t see us, we have our backs to the room,” Ruthie jumped in. “Besides, he was in a hurry.”

  “I wonder what was so important,” Penny Sue said tightly, staring up at the drawbridge and a long convoy of motorcycles. An instant later, her eyes flashed, and she was back to normal. Honestly, it was like the old cartoon w
here a light bulb went off in Popeye’s head. “I think we should look up Pauline.”

  Pauline was a psychic we’d consulted on our last trip. Her predictions turned out to be right. She was also very strange, bordering on scary. Her house was filled with oils and potions and lord knew what all. She had a mechanical angel named Alice, too.

  “It’ll be fun.” She glanced at Ruthie. “A birthday reading.”

  Ruthie grinned. “Sure, why not?”

  That’s all it took. Penny Sue rebounded from the pits of depression, yet again. A few minutes later, Frannie May and Carl (the Klingon) stopped by to offer birthday wishes. They’d spotted us from their inside table overlooking the deck.

  “Carl cleaned up good for Momma,” Penny Sue observed as the Anninas walked away. “He’s actually quite handsome.”

  I shook my head. “I told you he was only playing a game.”

  “You have to admit his get-up was pretty wild. Why would such an attractive man want to look so ugly.”

  “It’s a game, Penny Sue, a game.”

  “Hmph. A game like sickos in Las Vegas play, where twisted twerps shoot nude women with paintballs? There was a TV exposé on it. That isn’t a harmless game, if you ask me.”

  “That was a hoax,” Ruthie said. “A guy faked the whole thing to sell videos of the nude hunts on the Internet.”

  Penny Sue cocked her head skeptically. “You’re kidding. I never heard that. Why didn’t it make the news?”

  “It did, but was buried at the end of the broadcast. I suppose the reporters were embarrassed to admit they’d been duped.”

  “Proves appearances can be deceiving,” I said wryly. “Carl is a nice young man.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll take your word for it.”

  It was nearly ten by the time we paid the check and left. The night was pleasantly cool as we strolled up the deserted brick sidewalk. Penny Sue stopped in front of the hotel, presumably to fetch her car keys. While her hand rummaged through her purse, Penny Sue’s eyes searched the second floor windows. All the lights were out. The keys miraculously appeared.

  “I should have gone to the bathroom before we left,” Ruthie said suddenly. “Coffee always goes straight through me.”

  “Everything goes straight through you,” Penny Sue said. “You really should check into that pee urgency pill. Peeing all the time is not normal.”

  “Don’t start that.”

  “Well, do you want to go back to the restaurant?”

  “No, let’s hurry. I can wait until we get home.”

  We double-timed it around the hotel and stopped cold. Blue flashing lights lit up the sky while a siren sounded in the distance.

  “Lord!” Penny Sue set off at a jog with us close behind. We rounded the corner of some small shops to the lot next to the spa. “Crap!” Penny Sue stopped dead. Ruthie plowed into her back.

  Two police cars were stationed at either end of the lot with a small crowd of people huddled to one side. Siren wailing, an ambulance turned in from Flagler Avenue. A patrolman waved back the crowd, and the EVAC truck pulled to a stop, its headlights illuminating a form on the pavement about twenty feet from Penny Sue’s car. Another policeman hunched over the body giving CPR.

  “I hope you’re wearing a pantiliner,” Penny Sue said. “We’re not going home any time soon.”

  “I don’t have to go anymore,” Ruthie said weakly.

  I spotted Fran and Carl at the far side of the crowd. “What happened?’ I asked, worming in beside them as paramedics rushed to the victim with a stretcher and med kits.

  “Gun shot,” Carl replied solemnly.

  “A mugging?” Penny Sue asked.

  “Not likely.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen that guy around. He’s a biker who hangs out with a thug called Vulture who has a reputation for being mean. Some say Vulture’s crazy, others claim he’s one of those anti-government extremists. Bad news in either case.” Carl canted his head at the form the medics were about to shock with a defibrillator. “I’d guess this is some sort of turf battle.”

  We watched as the EMT applied a shock and checked for a pulse. Another shock. His partner listened with a stethoscope and shook his head. The first medic waved his hands, and everything went into high gear. They lifted the body onto the stretcher and headed for the ambulance. As the gurney rolled past, the victim’s head rolled to the side, his lifeless eyes staring straight at us.

  Penny Sue gasped and covered her face with both hands.

  I put my arm around her waist. “Take a deep breath.”

  She shook her head, hands still covering her eyes. “It won’t help,” she mumbled. “That’s one of Rich’s old friends.”

  “Rich’s friend?” I watched as a policeman closed the EVAC’s back door. The vehicle inched away, siren blaring.

  “He’s one of the men I saw on the balcony,” she said.

  “Uh oh, here comes trouble,” Ruthie whispered.

  “Penny Sue Parker,” a familiar voice said. “I thought I recognized that Mercedes.”

  I turned toward the voice. Damn. Double damn. It was Woody.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  Robert “Woody” Woodhead was the local prosecutor. He was also one of Penny Sue’s many jilted college loves. Though Woody was now married and swore he didn’t hold a grudge, none of us believed it. Woody made our last vacation pure hell. Needless to say, we weren’t thrilled to see him.

  Penny Sue set her jaw and glared at him. “We were just passing by.”

  Woody waved off the remark. “Relax, that was a observation, not an accusation.” His lips stretched into a crooked smile. “You have an amazing affinity for men with bullet wounds. This is the first gunshot I’ve seen since you were in town last October.”

  “Pure chance,” I said.

  “It is, indeed.” A policeman in uniform approached and whispered something to Woody. His grin grew wider. “I’m afraid we’ll need to give you a ride home. It seems the shooter wasn’t very accurate. He or she nailed your Mercedes.”

  “What?” We looked at the yellow Benz, where an officer was prying something from the middle of the first P in the PSP of Penny Sue’s University of Georgia vanity plate.

  “Yeah, whoever it was shot the center out of Penny,” Woody snickered.

  “Did they hurt Uga?” she demanded.

  A vicious-looking bulldog with a spiked collar, Uga is the Georgia mascot and the only dog to be invited to a Heisman trophy dinner. Actually, there have been a succession of Ugas who are paraded at the beginning of home games in an air-conditioned, fire hydrant doghouse.

  Woody stared at the license. “No. A shame. I’m a Gator fan.” He chuckled to himself. “We’ll have to take your car in to check for prints. You should get it back tomorrow. I’ll have one of the officers give you a ride.”

  “We’ll take them home,” Fran said forcefully.

  I was relieved, to say the least. It had taken some doing after the October debacle, but I’d finally convinced several of the neighbors that we were not homicidal maniacs and hated to queer the relationship by showing up in a police car. The three of us slid into the back seat of Fran’s new Jaguar. Spacious with a new leather scent, the luxury car’s back seat was a far cry from the rear of my Beetle.

  “I don’t like that guy,” Fran said, starting the Jaguar and cranking up the air conditioner. “Your car was shot, and he laughs about it. And that football comment was totally out of line. I might report him. He’s a public employee. Where does he get off with such arrogance?”

  He’s a lawyer, I thought. Then, two other lawyers—Zack, my ex, and Max Bennett, my worthless divorce counsel—came to mind. They were both snide and overbearing. In truth, virtually all the attorneys I knew, except for the judge, were egomaniacs. Probably a required course in law school, Self-Importance 101.

  “He could see how upset Penny Sue was,” Fran went on. “His remark was totally thoughtless. I’ve got a mind
to call the mayor.”

  “No,” I blurted. Fran was right, but a run-in with Woody was the last thing we needed. “Woody’s not worth your time. Besides, he’s one old acquaintance we really want to be forgot.”

  “Well, I’m going to keep an eye out for that guy. Public employees need to show a little respect for taxpayers. After all, we’re paying their salaries.” Fran reached through the space between the front bucket seats and patted Penny Sue’s knee. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Much, thank you.” She sighed. “I suppose insurance will cover the bullet hole. But, that’s the least of my worries. The victim is one of the fellows I saw outside of Rich’s room the other day. Rich said he was an old friend.”

  An old friend that hangs out with a person named Vulture. I also couldn’t help but wonder about the coincidence of Rich rushing through the restaurant and the old friend’s body being discovered less than a hour later. The look on Ruthie’s face said she was thinking the same thing. Surely, it had also occurred to Penny Sue.

  “I can hardly believe all of this. Rich seemed so kind and gentle,” Penny Sue said.

  “He’s into motorcycles,” Ruthie said quietly. “Some of the motorcycle crowd are pretty rough.”

  “Yeah, but they’re a minority,” Penny Sue said defensively. “It’s always a few bad apples that give the bunch a bad name. Like Muslim fanatics—everyone from the Middle East isn’t a terrorist.”

  Fran nodded. “All Italians aren’t in the Mafia.”

  “True, but all bikers don’t hang out with a Vulture,” Ruthie said.

  Penny Sue looked at her lap, crestfallen “You’re right. I just can’t imagine Rich is involved in this. He’s such a sweetheart.” She glanced up, tears rimming her eyes. “He’s my soul mate.”

  I swallowed. Lordy, I’d heard that line a million times before. Best I could tell, Penny Sue had been in a harem in several past lives, and everyone was her soul mate. Still, the tears threw me. I’d seen more tears from Penny Sue in the last two days than the last twenty-five years.