chapter twenty-three

Dave plucked the yellow sticky note from his phone. Gloria’s scribbles said it all. “Four more days!”

“And two of those are the weekend,” Dave added, to no one.

In ninety-six hours, Shaun R. Safford, one of BikeHouse’s top executives, would be sitting in the adjacent conference room with a close circle of highly paid staff. Four creative types from the company’s ad agency would also attend, as well as three support staff from Strategy Data.

Dave would lead. Brock would assist. Ellen would stand at the door and play boss. She’d shake hands, carry on about new partnerships and working together for the mutual good—PR propaganda.

The room would be packed with capable executives watching Dave’s every move, listening to his every word. All eyes would be on him—he was the man in charge. It would be dog-and-pony at its finest.

He shouldn’t be nervous. Speaking in front of business groups was second nature to him. He’d done it hundreds of times, in groups larger than this one. Why, then, was his stomach knotting?

He needed someone to talk with, someone to calm him down. Dave paged through the contacts in his phone, weighed his options. When he dialed a number, a familiar voice answered.

“This is Redd.”

“Redd, it’s Dave.”

“Dave? I was just trying to call you on the other line. You must be psychic.”

“Or psycho. What’s up?”

“Can you come down here right away?”

“Is there a problem?”

“There’s someone here that I’d like you to meet.”

“Who is it?”

“A friend. I think you two have a lot in common. I told her you’d be right down, so don’t make the woman wait. I have to run. I’ll look for you soon. ’Bye.”

Click—and Redd was gone.

• • •

Dave’s first real ride on a customized bike, besides his initial two-foot lunge, had come at the end of his first lesson. “A couple of loops around the parking lot,” Redd had said, “just to get the feel of the machine.” By the end of lesson two, Dave had graduated to the public streets in the vicinity of the Lakeshore location. By number three, he was testing short stretches of the Garden State Parkway. Dave hoped it would soon be time to hit the open road.

“You look a bit tense today,” Redd said when Dave walked through the door.

“Tell me about it. I’m meeting with Safford and crew next week. Not sure why, but I’m oddly nervous.” Dave glanced around, but he could see no one waiting. “You said you had someone I should meet?”

“I do.” Redd’s eyes twinkled like stars at midnight. “Dave, have you ever bumped into a person and known from the first moment that they were perfect for a friend?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“Well, that’s what happened.”

“Redd, I appreciate it, but . . . I’m not looking for . . . companionship right now.”

Redd was only encouraged. “True, my friend, but sometimes it comes looking for you. She’s waiting in the back, so please be a gentleman and at least say hello.”

Dave was tense and tired; he needed to talk, not engage in some social hour. He protested again as he followed Redd through the door into the shop.

“Redd, I’d rather not . . .”

The place was empty except for Redd’s smile and a gleaming black and red Harley Sturgis.

“She came in this morning. She’s mint. She not only has a belt-driven final drive, but her primary drive is belt-driven as well. I’ve checked her over, inside and out, and I’ve never had a bike traded in better condition. I’ve made a few modifications, but she’s mint—and she keeps calling your name.”

Dave reached down and let his fingers drift over the curves of the tank. He had not expected this.

“She’s beautiful, Redd,” Dave said.

“That she is. And the leather’s original. Seems the guy spent more time giving her polish than riding her. Here’s the thing. I have to ride down to Frederick, in Maryland, tomorrow to pick up some papers from my sister. I was thinking that you and your new friend could tag along. I’ve already made arrangements with the boss—we’re calling it a test drive.”

“I’d love to, but my presentation is in four days.”

“What’s your point? You seem wired. Nothing better to settle you down, to get you ready, than a good old-fashioned ride into the caring arms of Mother Nature.”

Dave pondered while Redd pushed.

“I’m telling you, it’ll do you good.”

“What time are you leaving?”

“First thing in the morning, ’bout six—before traffic gets heavy.”

Dave touched the bike again and then climbed on. He let out a breath, couldn’t help but grin. “Let me make some calls, but . . . yeah, let’s do it.”