Bike Week Blues (19 page)

“Absolutely not,” I said, jumping to Penny
Sue’s defense. “It’s merely an amulet, a good luck charm. A way to
focus your attention on a positive goal.”

Pointing to the label of instructions,
Ruthie handed the doll to Fran.

“Hold your hands over the doll and envision
the Universe supporting and fulfilling your desire for success,”
Fran read.

“The success I want is to find Rich before
the police do. If he doesn’t turn himself in, I’m afraid he’ll get
caught in the middle of a shoot out,” Penny Sue said as she opened
the other bag. “See, we burn these candles to set the mood. That’s
it. Basically, a meditation.”

Frannie May took a sniff of the sandalwood.
“Smells good. I can go along with this, as long as we’re not
praying to this thing and there’s no pin sticking.”

“No pins, I promise.”

“Okay.”

We stretched out in lounge chairs, enjoying
the picturesque scene of the sun dropping into the waterway.

“Anything good in the news today?” I asked
Ruthie. While I was not in her league as a news junkie, even I was
feeling out of touch with the world. Between the bikers and
Klingons, I felt like Alice in Wonderland where everything was
topsy-turvy.

“This is the largest Bike Week on record,
and accidents and injuries are at an all time low. Officials
speculate it’s because the bike crowd has gotten old and finally
given up their wild ways. Oh, and tomorrow afternoon is cole slaw
wrestling. That’s supposed to be the high point of the week.”

“I’ve heard of it, but never been. Carl and
his buddies go every year,” Fran said.

“I think we should go,” Penny Sue piped in.
“What could go wrong in the daylight? Besides, if it’s the big
event, Rich may be there. This could be my big chance.”

Rich. Penny Sue was like a starving dog
who’d latched on to a bone. There’s no way she was going to give it
up. “Is the rocket still scheduled to go?” I asked, trying to
change the subject.

Ruthie nodded. “Day after tomorrow, in the
morning. They haven’t announced the time yet.”

“I’d like to see that.” I glanced at Fran.
“We could go over to the condo and sit on the deck. As long as we
don’t take Penny Sue’s car, there’s probably no danger.”

“Depends on the time. If it’s dark, we’ll
ask Carl to go with us.”

“The Middle East is the usual mess,” Ruthie
went on. “Attacks, counterattacks, you’d think the people would get
sick of it and call a truce.”

“It’s gone on so long,” Frannie May said
sadly, “it’s become their way of life. The people over there don’t
know how to behave differently. Things probably won’t change until
all the old leaders die off, taking the past and all the grudges
with them. Hopefully, that will happen soon.”

Ruthie picked up the paper and turned to the
second page. “There was another hijacking of military weapons, this
time in Georgia, not far from Atlanta. Homeland Security is afraid
terrorist groups are planning a big attack.”

“How in the world can a military shipment be
hijacked? Don’t they have guards?” I asked.

Penny Sue shook her head. “You’d think so.
Probably an inside job—Al Qaeda sympathizers.”

“This terrorist thing is getting very scary.
I never realized how good we had it in this country. Now, I feel
like I have to look over my shoulder all the time,”

Fran chuckled. “If you’d grown up in a big
city, you’d be used to looking over your shoulder.”

“I guess you’re right,” Penny Sue said. “By
the way, I want to treat everyone to dinner. I’ve never been to the
Spanish River Grill and would like to try it.” She glanced at Fran.
“You’ve already done too much cooking. Please, say yes.”

“Fine with me—it’s a great restaurant. I was
going to make an antipasto for the boys to eat when they get back
from their battle. I can whip that up in a jiffy and let it chill
while we go to dinner.”

“Where are the guys?’ I asked. “We saw all
the cars and bikes parked next to Carl’s workshop.”

“Long gone. This is it, finally, victory in
the Battle of Khitomer,” Ruthie said with a twinkle in her eye.
“They were so excited—it was really cute to watch. They were like a
bunch of kids with a new toy when they rolled out the Bird of Prey.
They spit-polished spots and slid it into the water as if it were a
baby dolphin. I hope they win. There will be some mighty long
faces, otherwise.”

Penny Sue’s face brightened. “I know,” she
almost shouted. “We’ll do a success meditation for the Klingons.
Couldn’t hurt, right?”

Fran smiled. “Asking the Universe for help
is okay, I think. But, we’d better do it fast, because the battle
will start at dusk.”

We drained our cocktails and went upstairs
to the kitchen. Frannie May began throwing together a
little
antipasto—she’d pulled out a two-gallon salad bowl—while Penny Sue
and Ruthie set up our goddess paraphernalia in the middle of the
kitchen table. They placed the yellow candles in an arc behind the
goddess, aligned four chairs facing the doll, and lit a few of the
sandalwood candles around the room to set the mood.

By then the salad was finished and we took
our seats.

“Wait,” Fran instructed, hustling through
the great room off the kitchen to the master suite. She returned
wearing a necklace with a heavy gold cross and a large Crucifix
which she put in place of a wreath on the wall. “I’m Catholic,” was
all she said.

“Ruthie, will you do the honors?” Penny Sue
asked, passing her the instructions. “Let’s affirm the Klingons,
first.”

“What do we do?” Fran asked with an edge of
anxiety.

“I’m going to read this plea that the
Universe support Carl and his friends’ desire for success in the
battle. Then, we stack our hands over the goddess and silently
envision the guys being happy, jumping for joy, giving victory
calls—you know, whatever they’d normally do if they’d won the
battle.”

“That’s it?” Frannie asked, clearly
relieved.

“Yes. Now for Rich,” Ruthie went on. “We’ll
pause first to clear our minds. I’ll read the plea again, asking
that Penny Sue find and convince Rich to turn himself into the
police. Then, we’ll imagine that happening like we did before.”

“Let’s add a smile on Rich’s face and the
police patting him on the back. You know, like he’s cleared and
everything is hunky-dory,” Penny Sue said.

Frannie sat forward in her chair.
“Good.”

We went through the script, just as Ruthie
described. No bad vibes, no lightning bolts rocked the house, it
all went as planned.

“That was nice,” Frannie admitted at the
end.

“Hold on.” Penny Sue rushed to the sideboard
and returned with
The Book of Answers
. “Let’s double
check.”

“What’s that?” Fran eyed the black book
apprehensively.

“
The Book of Answers
—don’t worry,
it’s published by a Disney company.”

Fran nodded as if that was impressive
enough.

“You ask a question, then open the book at
random. It gives you an answer.”

“It’s like the old Eight Ball toys.” I
explained.

Fran nodded.

Penny Sue stroked the book vigorously. “I’m
going to ask if our wishes will come true.” She closed her eyes and
her lips moving slightly. Then, she dramatically pulled the pages
apart. The page said IT CANNOT FAIL. She hopped up and balled her
fist in a victory sign. “Fuckin’ A! Now, let’s go to Spanish River
and celebrate.”

Fearing her reaction to the profanity, I
glanced at Fran. It didn’t faze her. I should have known. Fran was
from Boston and was no wuss, apparently.

The locals must have been at Biker events,
because we didn’t have to wait at Spanish River. This was the
beach, where no one dressed up, so almost anything was acceptable,
provided you had shoes and a shirt—pants went without saying. But,
the bikers had not discovered this nook, so we were seated at
once.

Penny Sue went all out, ordering both the
oysters and the mojo chops. I shuddered to think what this might do
to a woman whose hormones were already on the level of an
eighteen-year-old male. Interestingly, Ruthie went for the oysters,
too.

Now, I don’t know if the old wives tale
about oysters is true, but it did get my attention, considering
Ruthie’d recently gotten the attention of two good looking men. I
hesitated, debating the oysters myself. Then my logical, Baptist
brain took over, and I opted for conch salad. Oh, well, another
time. Maybe when I came with Ted.

The dinner was delicious and was followed by
thick wedges of homemade key lime pie. Fat, happy, and sassy as
Penny Sue put it—there must be something to the oyster thing—we
headed back to Frannie’s house.

Close to ten by then, the Klingons arrived
with victory cries and a stack of pizzas.

The boys, still dressed in battle garb,
ambled into the kitchen. Carl stopped abruptly, noticing the
goddess in the middle of the table. “What’s that, Mom?” he
asked.

“Did you win?” Fran asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s your goddess of success!”

Carl regarded his mother as if she’s lost
her mind. Then he noticed the Crucifix hanging in place of the
wreath. But, the other Klingons were oblivious to the nuances. They
picked up the doll, held it high, and let out a deafening victory
cry that rattled the windows.

Frannie pulled out plates, the antipasto, and
a couple of bottles of red wine. The doll was forgotten as the
Klingons, famished from battle, descended on the food and
drink.

* * *

Carl took the
last bite of his
breakfast and wiped his mouth. “Mom, I honestly don’t think you
should go to the cole slaw wrestling at the Cabbage Patch
today.”

We were sitting around the table nestled in
the bay window that overlooked the waterway.

Carl glanced at each of us as if trying to
find the right words. “It’s, um-m, a little rowdy. I think you’d be
offended.”

“Rowdy, as in gunfire?” his mother asked,
paling a bit.

“Rowdy, as in vulgar. Women will be flashing
a lot of skin.”

She gave him an
I wasn’t born
yesterday
glare
.
“We know that a lot of bikers wear
skimpy clothes. It’s no worse than the stuff you see on the
beach.”

He cleared his throat. “Mom, some of the
skimpy clothes slide off during the wrestling. Nudity is a
tradition at this event.”

She looked down her nose. “So, that’s why
you go every year.”

He studied his plate sheepishly, and I tried
not to smile. Boys will be boys—even brilliant Klingons.

“Are they naked or nekkid?” Penny Sue asked
impishly.

Carl regarded her curiously. “What’s the
difference?”

“Naked means you don’t have on any clothes;
nekkid means you’re nude and up to something.”

Carl chuckled. “I guess there’s a little of
both.”

“Don’t worry, son, we’re grown women. There
isn’t going to be anything there we haven’t seen before.”

I thought of Red’s tattooed breasts and
suspected Fran was in for a surprise. Red was a first for
me—heavens knew what else might turn up.

“Besides,” Penny Sue added, “it’s our best
chance of finding Rich. Cole slaw wrestling is
the
highlight
of Bike Week. Everyone attends, and we’re counting on him to go
with the flow.”

Carl put his elbows on the table and looked
Penny Sue in the eye. “The Cabbage Patch is not a place for serious
conversation. It’s a big, wild party.”

“We’ve thought about that. If we find Rich,
we’ll follow him to a place where he can talk,” Fran said.

“Mom-m, please don’t do this. If Rich is
involved with Vulture, I don’t want you within fifty miles of that
group.”

“Carl, we’re not stupid. If we see Vulture,
we’ll go the other way.”

“You don’t know what he looks like!”

“Penny Sue does.”

Carl stood up, shaking his head, and reached
into his pocket. “I was afraid you’d be stubborn.”

Fran shook her finger. “Watch your mouth,
Sonny. Your father never stood for backtalk.”

“Yes, and Dad would never have allowed you
women to stalk Rich.”

“Stalk?” Penny Sue said tersely.

Carl leaned across the table and handed her
a silver disk about the size of a thick poker chip. “Yes, stalk! If
I can’t talk you out of going, at least use this. Try to slip it
into Rich’s pocket, on his bike, something.”

“What is it?” Penny Sue asked.

“A GPS transponder. I’d rather track Rich
from my computer than have you and my mother chasing all over
creation.”

Fran patted her son’s arm and smiled.
“That’s my Carl. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this
before.”

“Take the new cell phone I gave you,” he
continued with a sigh. “Some buddies and I are going out there. If
you get in trouble, call me. In fact, you should all take your cell
phones in case you get separated. The place will be mobbed.” Carl
glanced at Penny Sue. “You thought the Pub was crowded the other
night. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Penny Sue held up her hand like a reticent
six-year-old. “The battery in my cell is on the fritz. Won’t hold a
charge.”

Carl glanced up as if praying for
absolution, then reached in his pocket and pulled out a square
device only slightly larger than the transponder. “Here, take mine.
I’ll use my old one. Please don’t lose it—that thing cost a
fortune.”

“I’ll bet,” Penny Sue said, examining the
tiny instrument. “This is the smallest one I’ve ever seen.” She
passed it over for Ruthie and I to see. “I’ll be careful. Promise.”
She took the phone from me and slipped it in the inside pocket of
her bike belt. “It’ll be safe here.”

Frannie held her hands up to her hulking
baby boy. He gave us an embarrassed glance, then bent down and
kissed her forehead.

“You’re a good boy. Don’t worry, I can take
care of myself.”