Biker (24 page)

“Guess what. Moon left the country. They got video of him boarding a United flight to Hong Kong.”

Cass' gray-green eyes slitted. “Left the country?”

“They're waiting to confirm he landed in Hong Kong. Relax. He's not coming after us.” He held out his hand. “Come on. Let's go see Bloom.”

“Why not,” she said taking his hand.

They walked past the Park Motor Inn down South Hamilton to the Kipgard Building.

They walked up the steps and entered through the pebbled glass door. Perry Winkleman whispered intensely with a distraught older woman wearing a potato sack dress, ankles bulging over her flat black shoes. Perry glanced at Pratt and held a finger up to indicate one minute. Perry talked a few more seconds, levered himself up out of the wheelchair and leaned forward to give the woman a one-armed hug. She turned with a slight smile and headed for the door.

Perry sat back down and did a huge double take at Josh. “What in heavens happened to you, object of my heart?”

“Dude dropped a mountain lion on my head.”

Perry stared. “What really happened?”

“Dude dropped a mountain lion on my head.”

“Fine. Be that way. Go ahead. Who's this ravishing cowgirl?”

Cass stuck her hand out. “I'm Cass.”

Perry took her hand and kissed it. Pratt cringed.

“Go on down. The master is in.”

Pratt and Cass went down the hushed corridor to Bloom's office.

“He seems kind of gay to me,” Cass whispered.

“No shit.”

The door was open. Bloom sat at his desk rolling a joint on a copy of
Wisconsin Bar Review
. He looked up and shrank back in his chair as if trying to submerge himself beneath the leather.

“Jesus, Josh! You said you had a couple of scratches!”

“It's no big deal. This is Cass Rubio.”

Bloom licked the paper and slickly rolled the joint. “This is medical marijuana. I have a prescription.” He opened a drawer and dropped in the works.

“Cass doesn't care.”

“Cass might want some,” Cass said.

Bloom retrieved the joint and lit it with a lighter shaped like a Transformer.

Pratt and Cass sat on a leather sofa facing the desk. “This sheriff where I found the meth lab is charging me with breaking and entering. What kind of trouble am I in?”

Bloom inhaled deeply, leaned forward and passed the joint to Cass. He placed his elbows on the desk and lasered in. “Tell me again what happened.” Smoke surrounded his head like Mount St. Helens.

Pratt recounted everything that had happened from the Buffalo Chip on, leaving nothing out. He recounted his meeting with Calloway and Barlin. From time to time Bloom wrote on a yellow legal pad. When Pratt finished, Bloom opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a bottle of bourbon.

“I don't know about you but I need a drink after that. You want?”

Pratt shook his head. “Too Duaney for me.”

“What?” Bloom goggled.

“I meant too early.”

Bloom gestured toward Cass.

“Sure,” Cass gurgled, holding her smoke.

Bloom poured a shot in a Wizards of the Coast shot glass and handed it over. He opened a drawer, found another shot glass, filled it and tossed it back. “What kind of father could do that to his child? He could go to prison for life on this. And probably should. I wouldn't worry that he's stalking either you or your client. Guys like that, they know when to fold 'em. You've made it too hot for him around here. He probably threatened the women to throw you off.”

“Danny, he thought I was going to die. He had no reason to lie.”

“These guys lie to themselves as much as anyone. That's why they're called compulsive liars!”

“I never got a good look at him.”

“And this sheriff, he's blowing smoke. He already had you in his cell. He'd look like a fool if he rearrested you, particularly on such a trumped-up charge. All you have to do is claim that you acted to save the life of a child.”

“I'm not going to quit until I find him. You still have that old farm out near Baraboo?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Mind if we stay there a coupla days? Cass and me?”

“Sure. Got the keys rightchere.” The counselor reached into his middle desk drawer and pulled out a set of keys on a ring. He tossed them to Pratt. “But really, I wouldn't worry about this character. I'm pretty sure you've seen the last of that guy.”

“I hope you're right. I just left the MPD and the DEA.” Pratt reached into his pocket and removed Barlin's card and the voice recorder. He set them in front of Bloom and turned on the voice recorder. They listened to Barlin's offer.

“Hold on to this.”

Bloom put the recorder in a drawer. He glanced at his watch. “Just got time for one. An old blind cowboy wanders into a lesbo bar by mistake. Orders a beer. Pretty soon he says to the bartender, ‘Hey! Want to hear a blond joke?' The bar immediately becomes absolutely silent. Then, in a deep husky voice, the woman next to him says, ‘Before you tell that joke, cowboy, I think it's only fair, given that you're blind, you should know five things. One. The bartender is a blond girl with a baseball bat. Two. The bouncer is a blond girl. Three. I'm a six foot five blond woman with a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Four. The woman sitting on your other side is a professional weightlifter. And five. The lady to my right is a blond professional wrestler. You still wanna tell that joke?'

“The blind cowboy thinks for a minute and mutters, ‘No. Not if I'm gonna have to explain it five times.'”

Cass burst into laughter. Even Pratt had to smile.

“I've got an eleven-thirty. I'll walk you out.”

Bloom accompanied them to the reception area and said goodbye. As they were leaving he turned to his next client.

CHAPTER 45

They drove to Pratt's place. Cass honked at a bicyclist who was a foot outside the bike lane. “Fuckin' retard!” she yelled, accelerating past him. “These goddamn bicyclists think they own the road.” She switched gear to cloying nasal. “Oh, I'm a vegetarian earth person! I'm better than you because I ride a bike!'”

Pratt laughed. “You got that right. In Portland, dozens of them will surround your car and beat it to death with their bikes.”

Cass parked in the driveway. Pratt borrowed her key and got his weapons out of the toolbox. He stuck the Ruger in his fanny pack with the zipper open, went into the house through the kitchen and back out through the garage lugging a fold-up black steel ramp which he unfolded and fastened to the truck's lowered tailgate. Carefully, he unbungeed his bike and backed it down the ramp. The stitches stretched to breaking as he wheeled the Road King into the garage next to the stealth Honda.

Cass carried her overnight bag into the house through the garage while Pratt got his mail. As Pratt was walking back from the mailbox, he heard a voice.

“Josh! Josh!”

Pratt turned around. It was Lowry, coming down the smooth blacktop of his house wearing navy blue Bermuda shorts and a white Hawaiian shirt with purple and pink gardenias. Pratt waited as Lowry crossed the road, a bead of sweat on his brow.

“What's up, Dave?”

“You didn't RSVP. Are you coming to the party tonight?”

Pratt recalled the unopened invitation in the pile of mail. “We'll be there, Dave.”

Lowry left. Pratt found Cass in the bedroom putting her clothes in Pratt's dresser. She'd unceremoniously shoved the drawer's previous contents into the drawer below it, which now bulged with socks peeking over the rim.

“Don't bother. We're not staying here.”

Cass pushed herself into him. “Come on. We've got plenty of time before the party.”

Pratt was instantly hornier than a teenager playing footsie with the head cheerleader. Like a switch had been thrown.
Lord, am I that weak?
“Okay. Wait a minute.”

He locked the front and rear doors and followed Cass into the bedroom. She went into the bathroom. Pratt heard the sounds of tooth-brushing, a flushing toilet, running water. He sat on the bed and pulled off his shoes and shirt.

Cass came out of the bathroom wearing a pair of Pratt's gym shorts. Fifteen minutes flew by. Pratt pulled up short.

“You're thinking about that kid again.”

He was. He was thinking about the black hole.

By six-thirty Lowry's long driveway and turn-around had filled with Volvos, Lexuses, Infinitis, Mercedes and BMWs.

“I want all these cars,” Cass said as she and Pratt walked hand in hand up the drive. Cass carried a rum and Coke in a plastic cup.

Louise Lowry met them at the front door sausaged into tight black jeans and a frilly white shirt, a ruby the size of a dime nestled in her cleavage. “Josh! I'm so glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn't miss it, Louise.”

The older woman took Cass' hand. “Did Josh tell you how he saved our doggies?”

George and Gracie capered up on cue, dancing and barking.

“He talks of nothing else.”

Pratt felt an enormous surge of affection. “Actually, Cass was there.”

“Oh really. You must tell me about that later. Please—the party's out back by the pool. I'm on greeter's duty.”

Another couple was hot on their heels. Josh and Cass walked through the Spanish-style vestibule with blue and yellow tiled floor and rustic chandelier, past the winding staircase through the sunken living room, white shag rug, white furniture, fieldstone fireplace, out the sliding glass doors onto the broad patio, where about two dozen people had broken up into conversation clusters standing around a sky blue rectangular pool.

A college kid in white shirt and red and white Bucky tie mixed drinks at a portable bar. Cass made a beeline, pulling Pratt like a dinghy.

The bartender handed two sixteen-ounce plastic cups filled with draft beer to a sunburned guy in a Lacoste shirt and khaki shorts, feet planted in two-hundred-dollar Skechers.

The bartender swiveled to Cass. “What'll you have?”

“Rum and Coke please.”

“A Cuba Libre. And for the gentleman?”

“Just a Coke.”

Cass made a face. “You're no fun.”

Pratt grinned. “Yes I am.”

They walked around the pool, heads swiveling in their direction. What rough beast and a real fine slut. Some dude in crimson trousers arrived and the crowd gathered round like children at an ice cream truck. Turned out he was the UW athletic director, a former college and pro football great.

Cass stood on her tiptoes. “Wow! Blake Torkelson. I remember watching him on TV. Didn't he used to play for the Broncos?”

“And the Pack.”

They spotted David Lowry doing meet-and-greet by the open patio doors. “Come on,” Cass said leading Pratt by the hand. “Let's explore.” She pulled him toward the house.

“Josh!” Lowry said. “Glad you could make it. And Cass!” Lowry moved in for a gratuitous squeeze.

Cass bubbled. “Oh, Mr. Lowry.”

“Oh please! Call me Dave.” He turned to Pratt. “Jeez, you look like you were in a real crash. I was going to say something this morning but I didn't think it was appropriate.”

“It's embarrassing. You'd think I'd know how to ride a bike by now.”

Another party caught Lowry's eye and he swiveled with the finesse of a long-term politician. Cass pulled Pratt into the house.

“I don't know if he wants us wandering around in here,” Pratt said.

“Oh come on! I thought you were fun. Let's see what's in the basement. I'll bet there's a pool table.”

Pratt let her lead him to the staircase descending into the basement. A fully finished family room with a large flat-screen TV, a computer desk, sofas and framed prints, several depicting the UW campus and Camp Randall, where the Badgers played. A photo of Lowry with the athletic director. The walls were knotty pine, the ceiling was ecru acoustic tile. One wall contained a large shelving system filled with golf trophies, books and testimonial plaques.

A pool table dominated one end of the room. Cass turned in triumph. “See?”

“You're good,” Pratt said.

“No I'm not,” she said, pulling Pratt by his belt toward a door. She opened it. Inside was a guest bedroom, one wall completely covered with books, a shallow window closed with drapes but letting in enough light to show the king-sized bed, the Queen Anne dresser, a door opening onto a full bath. She pulled Pratt in and shut the door.

Cass turned and attached herself like a suckerfish to Pratt's chest and hips. “I'm bad, Pratt. I'm very very naughty. But in a good way.”

She began to unbuckle his belt. Pratt pushed her hands away.

“Stop that! This isn't our house!”

Cass played him like a theramin. “Come on, Pratt,” she purred, sitting on the bed, hanging on to Pratt by his belt as she tried to undo the buckle. “We won't be long. What's this in here? Something with a mind of its own.”

With a snarl of lust, Pratt unzipped his pants and pushed Cass back on the bed. She squealed, turning to the side to remove her jeans and panties. Pratt pinned her down and entered her, white ass bouncing.

The door opened and the light went on.

“Oh, excuse me!” said a startled female voice.

CHAPTER 46

The woman immediately shut off the light and closed the door. Pratt stood and pulled up his pants, mortified.

“Hey!” Cass said. “Hey, where you going? She's not going to come back!”

“You want to fuck, we'll go back to my place. I'm sorry but I just can't do it here.”

Cass put on her pants. “You're so romantic.”

“Come on. I'll buy you a frosty shake.”

“Gee thanks!”

Pratt cracked the door. The family room was blessedly empty. He quick-stepped across the floor to the stairs, Cass right behind him. As they eased their way out to the patio Pratt noticed a stout, older woman with a cap of white hair looking at him. She waited until Cass went back to the bar before approaching.