10
“I GOT A motorcycle out back I can let you have,” Vinnie said. “I just took it in on a bond. The guy was short money, so he gave me the bike. I already got my garage filled with crap. I can't fit a bike in there.”
People cleaned out their houses to buy their bonds. Vinnie took in stereos, televisions, mink coats, computer systems, and gym equipment. He bonded out Madam Zaretsky once and took her whip and her trained dog.
Ordinarily I'd jump at the chance to have a bike. I got my license a couple years ago when I was dating a guy who owned a cycle shop. I've looked at bikes from time to time but never had the money to buy one. The problem now is that a bike isn't the ideal vehicle for a bounty hunter.
“I don't want a bike,” I said. “What am I going to do with a bike? I can't bring an FTA in on a bike.”
“Yeah, and what about me?” Lula said. “How're you gonna fit a full-figured woman like me on a bike? And what about my hair? I'll have to put one of them helmets on, and it'll ruin my hair.”
“Take it or leave it,” Vinnie said.
I did a big sigh and rolled my eyes. “This bike come with helmets?”
“They're in the back room.”
Lula and I shuffled out to see the bike.
“This is gonna be an embarrassment,” Lula said, opening the back door. “This is gonna be . . . hold on, look at this. Holy crap. This isn't just a dumb-ass bike. This is a hog.”
It was a Harley-Davidson FXDL Dyna Low Rider. It was black with custom green flames and custom pipes. Lula was right. It wasn't just a dumb-ass bike. It was a wet dream.
“You know how to drive one of these?” Lula asked.
I smiled at her. “Oh yeah,” I said. “Oh yeah.”
Lula and I strapped on the helmets and straddled the bike. I put the key in the ignition, kicked it over, and the Harley rumbled under me. “Houston, we have liftoff,” I said. And then I had a small orgasm.
I rode up and down the alley behind Vinnie's office a couple times, getting the feel of the bike, and then I headed for Mary Maggie's condo building. I wanted to take another crack at talking to Mary Maggie.
“Don't look like she's here,” Lula said, after the first turn around the parking garage. “I don't see her Porsche.”
I wasn't surprised. She was probably off somewhere inspecting the damage on the Cadillac.
“She's wrestling tonight,” I said to Lula. “We can talk to her then.”
I CHECKED OUT the cars in the lot to my apartment building when I pulled in. No white Cadillac, no black limo, no Ziggy and Benny car, no MMM-YUM Porsche, no megabucks-and-probably-stolen Ranger car. Only Joe's truc
k.
Joe was slouched in front of the television with a beer in his hand when I walked in.
“I heard you smashed up your car,” he said.
“Yeah, but I'm okay.”
“I heard that, too.”
“DeChooch is whacko. He shoots at people. He deliberately runs people down. What's the deal with him? That's not normal behavior . . . even for an old mob guy. I mean, I know he's depressed, but yeesh.” I went into the kitchen and gave Rex a piece of biscuit I'd saved from lunch.
Morelli followed me into the kitchen. “How'd you get home?”
“Vinnie loaned me a bike.”
“A bike? What kind of bike?”
“A Harley. A Dyna Low Rider.”