13
'Don't know what's taking him so long,' Julio said. 'He's only coming from Harlem.'
Jack glanced at the St. Pauli Girl clock over the bar. Almost ten after ten.
Damn. Forty minutes till they landed.
He'd remembered that Julio's younger brother Juan was into motorcycles. Julio had called him and prevailed upon him to drive down to the bar and lend one of his bikes to Jack.
'If he's dealing with this traffic, it's going to take him a while-even weaving through it.'
With all the arteries out of the city clogged, the only solution was something with the ability to slip between the clots. A motorcycle seemed perfect.
One problem, though. Jack hadn't ridden one in a while. He'd used two wheels pedaling around Burlington County as a kid, so when he was old enough for motorvating, he'd seen no reason to move up to four. His folks had hated his Harley, and his sister Kate, the doctor, repeatedly warned him about the motorcycle drivers she'd seen wheeled into the ER, brain dead from a dust-up with a car or truck. She'd called his Harley a 'donorcycle.'
Jack wouldn't listen, and owned a succession of Harleys through college. He loved motorcycles-he'd used Arlo Guthrie's pronunciation, rhyming with pickle-reveling in the anarchic freedom they offered. Plus, the helmet conferred anonymity.
Of course, he'd felt immortal then.
He'd brought one with him when he'd disappeared into the city, and rode it until a potentially fatal crash drove home how vulnerable he was on two wheels-like a turtle living outside its shell, roadkill waiting to happen at the hands of anyone who was fiddling with the radio or cell phone when traffic was coming to a sudden stop. What might be a simple fender bender in a car-to-car scenario escalated to bug-against-the-windshield potential when a motorcycle was involved. And when being chased by a gang of psychos in cars…
That was when he'd bought Ralph. And when the Corvair became too conspicuous, he'd graduated to the Crown Vic.
If he was going to be involved in any vehicle-to-vehicle mishap, Jack wanted to be the one to walk away.
He looked around the unusually crowded bar.
'You running a two-for-one special or something?'
Julio made a face. 'Yeah, right.' He jerked a thumb toward the street. 'They're from out there. Traffic ain't movin' so they come in to kill time.'
'I see you opened up the back tables.'
He looked sheepish. 'They need a place to go. Gotta put 'em somewhere.'
This was mucho unJulio. He didn't like random patrons. If he had his way, his bar would be a private club that required a membership card, with him as sole arbiter of the suitability of who could be served.
'How civicly responsible.'
He grinned. 'Community service-my middle name, meng.'
'And that ringing cash register has nothing to do with it.'
'Like Abe says: Ain't nothin' better'n doing well while doing good.'
Then the door banged open and a young Latino who resembled Julio-minus ten years and a lot of muscle- pushed a stripped-down motocross bike into the bar.
'Ay, Juanito. You can't bring that in here.'
'Ain't leavin' it outside. Be gone in a beat.'
Julio stepped forward and shot his hand toward Juan's face. For a second Jack thought he was going to hit him, but instead he grabbed his chin and turned his head.
'What happen to you?'
Jack could see it now-a good-size bruise on his chin, bleeding a little.
'Guy tried to steal my bike. It's getting crazy out there.'
So soon?
Jack had figured it would take longer for the idea to filter to the synapses of the wolves that the shepherds had lost some of their eyes and ears and the sheeple were largely unguarded.
'Hey, I'm sorry about that,' Jack said. 'I owe you.'
Juan shrugged. 'S'okay. You don't owe this family nothing.'
Jack looked at Julio. 'What's he talking about?'
'Rosa.' Julio gave Jack a backhand slap across an arm. 'What? You forget?'
It took Jack a couple of seconds to realize he was talking about his sister. Rosa had been having some nasty trouble with her ex-husband. Jack had fixed it. And yeah, he'd kind of forgotten about it.
'Long time ago.'
'This family, we got long memories. You know that.'
'And nobody else was supposed to know.'
Julio's deprecatory shrug could not quite hide his pride in his younger brother. 'Juanito figured it out.'
'Good for him.' Jack held the door and nodded toward the street. 'Back her out onto the sidewalk and you can show me how it works.'
Juan rolled his eyes. 'Aw, you ain't gonna tell me you never been on a bike before.'
'Course I have. Just been a while is all. Be with you in a minute.' As the door closed behind Juan and the bike, Jack turned to Julio. 'Got anything I can use if I run into trouble?'
Julio's eyebrows lifted. 'You ain't carrying?'
Jack cocked his head and gave him a stare.
'Silly me,' Julio said with a twisted grin.
'Silence would be golden.'
Julio ducked behind the bar and returned with something held tight against his outer thigh, shielding it from the room. When he reached Jack he slipped him a leather slapper. Jack gave it a surreptitious heft.
'Isn't this-?'
'Yeah, the one you got me.'
Jack had bought it years ago from Abe as a gift for Julio. Basically a foot-long blackjack-fourteen ounces of lead in a flattened leather sleeve with a wrist strap. A fight ender.
'What if you need it?'
'I still got the bat and my little fren.'
Little fren… Julio's borrowed name for the double-ought, sawed-off ten-gauge he kept under the bar.
Jack pocketed the sap and headed for the door.
Out on the sidewalk, the night had quieted some. Only an occasional echoing blare. Drivers seemed to have realized the futility of leaning on the horn. In fact some of the cars were empty, temporarily abandoned while their owners found something better to do-like hang out in Julio's.
Jack turned his attention to the bike. It looked like it had seen better days.
'Kind of old.'
Juan puffed his chest. 'Vintage Yamaha, man. Custom seat, titanium-'
'Great. I need a quick tour so I can get on the road.'
'What you use to ride?'
'Harleys.'
'Cool. But these ride different.'
Juan quickly ran through the gearshift, the clutch, and the throttle. Pretty standard, except Jack hadn't driven anything with a clutch in ages.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Get into an accident and break something major or, worse, wind up dead-what good would he be to Gia and Vicky then?
But it was the only idea left.
He thought of them landing and walking into an airport in chaos. Could they rent a car? Maybe, maybe not.
