Bike Week Blues (20 page)

Carl glanced at the umbrella stand in the
foyer that concealed the baseball bat. “That’s what scares me.”

* * *

We piled into Carl’s beat-up Explorer right
after lunch.

“This won’t draw attention,” Frannie said.
She was dressed in black slacks and shirt with her hair tied back
in a kerchief. Since it was sunny and unseasonably warm, Penny Sue
wore a red print shirt with cutoff jeans and the Harley boots with
red flames. As unpretentious as I’ve ever seen her look, she wore
minimal make-up and had her hair platted in a single braid down the
back. I wore black capris and a tank top, while Ruthie wore jeans,
a V-neck shirt, and a really cool turquoise and silver belt. For
once, Ruthie was the glitziest of the group, and I wondered with an
impish grin if Ruthie was hoping to meet someone—or, rather two
someones—at the match.

“What?” Ruthie asked, noticing my smile.

“Nothing,” I said innocently.

We all decided to wear our new bike belts.
Unfortunately, Penny Sue packed her .38 and Fran stuffed the pepper
spray into their belts. The firepower made me feel nervous, rather
than safe. An image of Penny Sue and Frannie May descending on Rich
with weapons blazing flitted across my mind. I was pretty sure Fran
had more sense, but I wasn’t so sure about Penny Sue. After all,
her mojo was revved from last night’s dinner, and I doubted the
black cohosh had time to take effect. That Fran would go along with
Penny Sue was beyond my comprehension. The two had an affinity that
I couldn’t explain. I’d never checked, but maybe Fran was a Leo.
Or, perhaps, it was her Italian roots.

Everyone—at least, in the South—thought
Italians took no stuff from anyone, making them all pseudo-Leos.
Even rednecks tread lightly around Italians. It was the Mafia
mystique. Certainly, all Italians weren’t Mafia, no more than all
bikers were in gangs or all Southerners were dumb because they
spoke slowly. These were superficial stereotypes based on movies
and a handful of weirdo, fringe groups. Still, that horse head from
The Godfather
gave me nightmares for weeks, and no doubt
lurked at the back of many minds.

Be that as it may, off we went, armed for
who knew what. Sun shining brightly, early afternoon, we were going
to cole slaw wrestling. Imagine, women wallowing around in shredded
cabbage! I wondered if they used real dressing and if it was any
good. I normally bought my slaw because I’d never been able to make
a decent sauce. Maybe the Cabbage Patch bottled and sold theirs
:
Official Bike Week Cole Slaw Dressing
. Considering my record,
I’d give it a try.

With a lot of doing, we finally found a
parking spot in a wooded field of bikes. Frannie May who drove like
a professional valet, wedged into a spot I’d never thought
possible. “Boston,” she said, getting out of the Explorer and
adjusting the bike belt with the pepper spray. “Up North, you learn
to take any advantage.”

What a difference! A Southern woman would
drive an hour looking for a big space—preferably two, if parallel
parking was required. All that maneuvering into a tiny spot was too
tense for a Southern belle. You’d break out sweating and ruin your
make-up. Considering it had taken thirty to forty-five minutes to
put on your
face
, a few loops around the block were
nothing.

We locked up and struck out for parts
unknown. The first thing that hit me as we walked across the field
was the large number of women in swimsuits.

“Contestants,” Ruthie stated. She’d looked
up the Cabbage Patch web page on the Internet.

We followed the crowd through the field to
an area cordoned off by a wire fence where people were packed in
three deep. Judging from the hoots and hollers, we knew the
wrestling had already started.

“I want to see what’s going on,” Fran said.
“Follow me.” Circling the crowd, we searched for a space. We found
nothing until a fine spray of water hit us in the face. “There,”
Fran called, racing for a spot being vacated by two drenched
spectators. It only took a second to see why the couple left.
Directly ahead, a man was hosing slaw off one of the contestants.
Outfitted in a slinky bikini, she turned her back to the crowd,
pulled back her panties, and wiggled in the spray.

Another match was already underway in the
middle of the fenced enclosure. The ring was a large pit lined with
blue plastic and filled with oily, shredded cabbage. The
contestants seemed fairly mismatched. One was a hefty girl, as
Grammy would say, while the other was a slim-hipped, buxom blonde.
Hefty adopted the stance of a sumo wrestler; Blondie pranced in the
slush like a ballerina. Hefty lunged, Blondie did a twirling kick,
Hefty fell flat on her face, Blondie fell on Hefty and the match
was over.

“That was a nice round off kick,” Penny Sue
said, lowering her hands from shielding her face as the spray
stopped.

“Don’t tell me,” I said. “You’ve taken
karate.”

“Tae Kwon Do. Bodan.”

“I tried it,” Frannie added. “Got up to
orange, then threw my shoulder out. My doctor told me to give it up
before I really got hurt.”

As Blondie and Hefty approached, we turned
around, anticipating the shower. “Now what? Ruthie asked.

“We search the crowd.”

“How?”

With the high heels on her Harley boots,
Penny Sue was close to six feet tall and could see over the top of
the crowd.

“You survey the back lot, we’ll scan the
people around the fence,” I said. “If that doesn’t work, we’ll
meander around.”

“This is hopeless,” Ruthie moaned.

“You said that at the Pub and we found him,”
Penny Sue reminded her.

“A lot of good that did.”

Penny Sue put her hand on her hip. “Come on,
Ruthie, you’re Ms. Positive Thinking. Besides,
The Book of
Answers
said we couldn’t fail. Now, you either believe in the
spirits or you don’t. Which is it?”

Ruthie huffed. “May I at least wait until
the spraying stops?”

“Of course, darling. We don’t have to be
dumb about it.”

Ruthie clenched her teeth and didn’t say a
word. I thought she would bust. But, in a few minutes the spray
stopped and we turned toward the ring.

“I’ll take the right,” Ruthie said. “Fran,
you take the middle and Leigh will cover the left. Okay?”

A shame we hadn’t brought binoculars. It was
hard to distinguish faces when people were packed together like
sardines. Of course, women with binoculars at a female wrestling
contest might give the wrong impression. Not that I really cared;
however, it could present complications we didn’t need.

The wrestling was distraction enough. The
new contestants were unusually vocal and evenly matched, making it
impossible not to watch. Coated from head to toe in slaw, they
rolled in the mush, clawing for dominance. A roar went up from the
crowd as someone’s halter was flung aside. A few minutes later, a
thong bikini went flying.

“Are they naked or nekkid?” Fran asked under
her breath.

“Darned, if I know,” Ruthie said weakly. By
now, Penny Sue had abandoned any pretense of surveillance and was
watching, too.

It was difficult to tell who was getting the
upper hand in that roiling pit of flailing limbs and curses. Even
the referee seemed overwhelmed until the pantiless contestant
landed a punch to her opponent’s stomach. Foul!

The referee waded into the slimy fray and
tried to separate the women. Bare Butt was obviously not happy with
his decision and took a roundhouse swipe at the referee. He dodged
the blow and fell backward onto the other woman. Egged on by whoops
and hollers, the Bare Butt Wonder jumped from the pit and went into
a primal victory dance. That’s when a man wearing a Security shirt
appeared. He ushered Bare Butt toward us, while the referee and
other contestant struggled to get out of the pit.

Bare Butt continued her wild antics even as
she was being hosed off, finally bending forward toward the crowd
and ripping off her bra. I gasped. Ruthie yelped. The lady’s boobs
were tattooed with flowers. It was Red.

That’s when things went crazy. “Well, if it
isn’t Bubble Head and Molly.” Red grabbed a towel from someone,
which she wrapped around her waist and headed our way.

I grabbed Frannie’s arm. “We need to
leave.”

“Do you know that person?”

“It’s the lady we told you about from the
Pub. She’s a friend of Vulture’s.”

“Good. This is the break we need,
right?”

“No, we don’t want to tangle with her.”

Frannie frowned. “What are you afraid of?
There’s four of us, one of her, and she can’t be armed.”

Penny Sue had already started to move away.
“Leigh’s right, Frannie. This isn’t the time or place.”

Red was wild-eyed, and the crowd parted
before her like the sea before Moses. Unfortunately, we had to slog
our way though the throng. She caught up to us as we broke out of
the thickest part of the mob into a wooded area next to a hot dog
stand.

She pointed at Penny Sue. “I’ve got bone to
pick with you.”

Eyes narrowed, Penny Sue backed off. “We
have nothing to talk about.”

Red stepped forward, looking up into her
face. “Not so brave without your tall buddies, are you?”

“Wait one minute,” Frannie May said sternly,
giving Red the
look
. Sadly, it was lost on this woman who
was obviously high on something.

“Stay out of this, Granny, unless you want
your ass kicked, too.”

“What?” Frannie started fumbling with her
bike belt. Lord, she was going for the pepper spray. I shook my
head and reached for her hand. She gave me the
look
. I
backed off instantly. Fran pulled out her cell phone and started to
dial.

“Fake, chicken shit,” Red sneered at Penny
Sue. “You think you’re so smart. Stay away from Rich. Little
Dickie’s mine.”

Penny Sue set her jaw. “That remains to be
seen.” She turned to leave, and Red slugged her in the jaw. In one
smooth move, Penny Sue swung around, leg extended, and swept Red’s
legs out from under her. The towel went soaring. With the
determination of a pit bull, Red jumped to her feet, naked as a
jaybird, with fists flying.

Penny Sue backed up and assumed a defensive
posture—something from Tae Kwon Do, I supposed.

Fran fumbled in her bike belt. This time I
knew she was going for the spray. “Stop that,” she shouted. “Stop
this minute!”

Red was not in a listening mood. She lunged
for Penny Sue, who knocked her back with a kick to the gut.
Considering Penny Sue was wearing the Harley boots and Red was
nude, it must have hurt like hell. But, she surely had a streak of
wild animal, because she came back swinging as if nothing had
happened.

“Enough,” Fran said with the force of Darth
Vader, waving the pepper spray.

A crowd had formed to watch the commotion.
My mouth went dry at the sight of Fran’s spray, recalling Woody’s
comment that any small incident could set off a turf war between
bikers. I poked Fran on the arm. “Put that up, you could start a
riot.” Her eyes shifted from side-to-side. Fran stuffed it in her
pocket just as Rich plowed through the crowd and stepped between
the women.

“No more,” he said, holding them at arm’s
length. A rough-looking dude appeared on his heels and handed the
towel to Red.

“Vulture,” Penny Sue whispered.

Vulture pushed Red roughly. “What the hell
are you doing?”

Red raised her chin defiantly, clutching the
towel. “I don’t like fake bitches.”

Rich frowned and said under his breath, “Get
out of here, Penny Sue.”

The urgency in his voice was unmistakable.
As we backed up and turned to high tail it out of Dodge, Vulture
held up his arms and shouted, “Don’t move!”

The entire crowd froze like statues. There
was no way for us to get away.

Vulture glowered at Rich, then sidled up to
Penny Sue, who towered over him in her boots. “Did I hear right?
Penny Sue?” he sneered. “This wouldn’t be Penny Sue Parker from
Roswell, Georgia? The busybody who drives a yellow Mercedes?”

Our worst fears had materialized. I’d always
thought Penny Sue was overly paranoid about running into criminals
that her father had locked up, yet it had finally happened. I
watched as her hand inched toward her belt. I also noticed that
Rich had suddenly developed an itch on his back.

They didn’t make it. A nod from Vulture and
two huge guys barreled through the crowd and grabbed Rich and Penny
Sue. The biggest of the two, a mangy guy with a scraggly beard,
patted Rich down and pulled a handgun from the back of his
jeans.

“Sig Sauer, probably government issue.”

Government issue? A murmur rippled through
the crowd.

The second guy plunged his hand into the
front of Penny Sue’s bike belt and came out with the .38.

Vulture went nose-to-nose first with Rich,
then Penny Sue. Actually, in her case, it was more like
nose-to-chin, but the effect was the same. “Hm-m, seems my good
buddy knows this meddlesome bitch, and they’re both packing
hardware. Curious,” he said to no one in particular. “I think we
should have a little conference to see what’s going on here.”
Vulture nodded and his goons shoved Rich and Penny Sue toward the
woods.

“Call the police!” Penny Sue shouted. The
mangy gang member clamped his hand over her mouth.

As I fumbled for my cell phone, Ruthie
implored the people standing next to her to help Penny Sue. They
shook their head and backed away. No one, it seems, including a
security guard standing a few feet away, wanted to tangle with
Vulture. But, Fran had spunk. Hand in pocket, no doubt clutching
the pepper spray, she crossed herself and started after them.
Suddenly, hands came from behind and pulled us back, through the
crowd. It was Carl and his buddies.

“No-o-o,” Fran screamed as Vulture and his
gang disappeared with Rich and Penny Sue. “Son, we’ve got to help
them.”