He grinned. “You ready?”
“Yep.”
“If we eat and hit the road, should be there by late afternoon. It’s less than 600 miles.”
I looked forward to our time on the road, but the thought of meeting my cousin made me nervous.
“Sounds good.”
We rode across the street and parked the bike where we could see it through the windows.
Percy opened the door. “After you.”
I stepped inside and looked around. The diner was a step back in time, for sure. Two elderly women wearing aprons appeared to be the only waitresses. One, coffee pot in hand, turned toward us.
“Any seat you like,” she said. “Want coffee?”
“Two, please,” he responded.
We chose a booth opposite where the bike was parked and sat down. A small chrome box at the end of the booth with a series of buttons on the bottom was mounted at the end of the booth, by the window.
The letters A through K and the numbers 1 through 10 were on the face of the buttons.
I leaned toward the box. “What is this?”
“Juke box,” he said.
“It plays music?”
“It’s old school as fuck. If it still works, that’s what it does.”
I flipped through the pages of songs. After glancing at three pages, one caught my complete attention.
“Bob Seger,” I gasped. “Roll Me Away.”
“Good tune,” he said.
My eyes shot to him. “It was one of my mom’s favorites.”
The waitress pointed toward the condiment rack and then sat two cups of coffee down. “Menus are right there.”
“Does this work?” I asked.
“Sure does. Two for a quarter. No cheaper music in the entire valley.”
Percy tossed two quarters onto the table. “Pick your four favorites.”
“I’ll be right back to take your order,” the waitress said.
“I know what I want,” Percy said.
“Me too.”
The waitress looked at me and cocked her eyebrow playfully.
“Three eggs over medium, hash browns, bacon, and wheat toast.”
She grinned and looked at Percy.
“Same.”
She scribbled on her pad. “Easy enough.”
As she walked away, Percy looked at me. “Always eat your eggs over medium?”
“I’ll eat them scrambled if I cook them, but not in a restaurant. They never make them right.”
He chuckled.
“What?’
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
I reached for the quarters, and then looked the music choices over. After two passes through the entire selection, I chose four songs.
As Bob Seger’s Roll Me Away began, I closed my eyes. Percy must have enjoyed the song as much as me, because he didn’t speak the entire time.
When the song ended, I opened my eyes.
“What other three did you pick?”
“The Weight by The Band, Janis Joplin’s Me and Bobby McGee, and I Wish It Would Rain, by the Temptations.”
“Damn. Where’d you get your taste in music?”
“You don’t like them?”
“Shit,” he said with a light laugh. “Sounds like what I would have picked.”
“My dad was ten years older than my mom,” I explained. “He was born in 1965, so he’d be 52 now. Mom always said he influenced her musical taste. I grew up listening to these songs. It’s better than the crap they make today.”
The Weight, by The Band started to play.
From the opening word, I began to sing along quietly. After a few seconds, Percy joined in. We both grinned, singing word for word as we gazed at each other.
The waitress slid the plates in front of us. It didn’t stop us from singing.
Percy gave her a nod.
“Cutest couple I’ve seen in a long time.” She smiled. “Enjoy.”
When the song ended, we reached for our plates. As the other two played, we ate our breakfast.
“You’re an old soul.” He pushed his plate to the side and reached for his coffee. “I like that about you.”
I folded my toast in two and poked it in my mouth. “I pretty much like everything about you. So far, anyway.”
He shook his head. “Got a question for you.”
I took a drink of coffee. “Okay.”
“When we get back from this trip, would you consider going out?”
I had no idea what he was talking about. I wrinkled my nose and stared back at him. “What do you mean?”
“Go out,” he said.
“Huh?”
“You’re making this tougher than it ought to be.” He let out a sigh. “I want to take you on a date. I’m asking you if you’d consider going out with me. On a date.”
Holy cow.
My throat went dry.
I had no idea what a woman felt when a man asked her to marry him. At least not until that moment. My guess was that what I felt was identical. It had to be.
I picked my jaw up from the floor and calmly took a sip of my tepid coffee. “A date? Like, you and me going out on a date? A real date?”
He nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”
All my years of desire had somehow come to fruition. I was shaking from the excitement of it all, but clenched the coffee cup tightly in my hands to mask it.
I met his wondrous gaze, offered him a smile, and gave the only answer I could.
“I’d love to.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
P-Nut
Axton Bishop looked like an old-school biker from yesteryear. His face was deeply tanned from years of riding, his brown hair was littered with gray, and his hands were covered in more scars than most other bikers I knew.
A half hour south of Wichita, in a town I’d never heard of, the three of us were seated at an office in the back of his clubhouse. He took a moment to digest the death of a mother he’d never really known, and then looked up.
He folded his massive arms over his chest and met Smudge’s gaze. “Died, huh? I’ll be damned. Like I said a minute ago, I never really knew her. She left when I was a kid. Ol’ Man was a violent prick, so I can’t say as I blame her.”
“I’m sorry,” Smudge said.
“Don’t be,” he said. “It’s nobody’s fault. Part of the journey. Happens to the best of us.”
“Your pop rode with the red and white?” I asked.
“He did. Like I said, he was a violent prick,” he said dryly. “They did the world a favor when they locked his ass up.”
“Did he ever mention his brother-in-law?” I asked. “His wife’s sisters husband? Your uncle?”
“Not that I recall, no. But we didn’t talk much past when I was about eighteen. Not much up to that time, either.”
“Ever heard of Billy The Snake Schreiber?” Smudge asked.
Axton shot her a glare. “Do I look like a car salesman?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“A landscape architect?”
“No.”
“Resemble a 1%er at all?” he asked flatly. “Maybe a little?”
She chuckled. “Maybe a little.”
“Any man who wears a patch knows of The Snake,” he said. “Man gave his life for his club in more ways than one. We could all learn a little something from how he lived his life. Why do you ask?”
Smudge pushed herself away from the table and straightened her posture. “He was my father.”
His eyes thinned. After a moment’s thought, his lips parted slightly. He pushed himself away from the table, stood, and shot her a look.
“You’re Billy Schreiber’s daughter?”
She nodded. “Sure am.”
“That’d make him my uncle.”
“That’s why we’re here,” she said. “I was hoping you could tell us more about him. Well, that, and I wanted to meet you.”
He looked at me and then at her. He motioned for her
to stand. “Stand up.”
She stood.
He looked her over. “As far as I know, you’re my only relative.”
“My dad was an only child, and my mother only had the one sister. If you don’t have any siblings,” Smudge said with a grin. “You’re my only relative, too.”
“I’ll be fucking damned.” He extended his hand.
She looked at his open hand as if he was trying to hand her a snake. She clenched her fist and straightened her arm.
He pressed his fist into hers, grinned, and then looked at me. “And you’re a Filthy Fucker?”
“Done a dime with ‘em so far.”
“Dime in that state’s like a lifetime anywhere else. It’s like the wild west out there, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Can be.”
He looked at Smudge. “Did you know my mother?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
“You didn’t know my mother, and I didn’t know your father. It’s a damned shame you came all this way.”
“At least we got to meet each other,” she said.
I know it wasn’t what she wanted, but it was really all he had to offer. He seemed to be a man of few words, and I had my doubts we’d spend the day in the clubhouse chewing the fat about bikes, booze, and bitches.
We did stay for another hour or so, and then said our goodbyes.
As we saddled up, Axton stood off to the side and looked my bike over. “Good lookin’ scoot.”
“Appreciate it.”
Smudge pulled on her helmet, and then turned toward Axton. “Do you eat Vietnamese noodle soup?”
He grinned. “I’ve been known to.”
“Any good places in Wichita?”
“There’s a couple, yeah.”
“Any of them been around for twenty years or so?”
“One,” he said. “My Tho. Fellas that run it ride. Good people, good noodles, and a good atmosphere. Family owned and operated. Biker friendly, too.”
“Thanks,” she said.
She looked at me. “Noodles?”
The thought of eating at a place her father had ridden 1,500 miles to eat at was intriguing.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I responded.
The small building on a corner lot with a dirt parking lot wasn’t at all what I expected. After parking the bike, we walked inside.
The inside of the restaurant was spotless. We chose an empty seat, and were greeted promptly by a man in his forties.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Water and coffee, times two,” I said.
He gave a nod and then motioned toward the center of the table. “Menus are right there. I’ll be back with your drinks.”
As we looked over the menus, he returned.
“How long has this place been here?” Smudge asked.
“Twenty-five years,” he said.
“How long have you worked here?” she asked.
He smiled. “Twenty-five years.”
“Do you ride?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. Mine’s parked out back, right beside my brother’s.”
“You ever heard of Billy The Snake Schreiber?” she asked.
He gave a sharp nod. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Her eyes went wide. “Has he ever been in here?”
“Yes, ma’am. He came in several times. It’s been a long time ago, though. He’s dead, you know.”
She nodded. “Do you remember where he sat?”
He gave a sharp nod, and then pointed to a large round table in the far rear of the restaurant. “Same place every time.”
“Mind if we move to that table?” she asked.
“No, Ma’am. Not at all.”
We moved to the other table and sat down.
The waiter brought our drinks. “Are you ready to order?”
“Do you know what Billy ate when he came?”
“Yes, Ma’am. The number twelve,” he said. “Every time.”
Her eyebrows raised slightly. “You’ve got a good memory.”
“Hard to forget a man like that, Ma’am. It’s been a long time, but it isn’t very often someone rides 1,500 miles to eat in your restaurant. My brother and I were gang-bangers back then. We actually started riding because of him. He was an easy man to admire.”
She grinned. “I’ll have the number twelve.”
“Bring us two of ‘em,” I said.
“It’ll just be a few minutes.”
Smudge relaxed against the back of her seat and looked around the restaurant. “I like this place.”
“I do, too. And, the fella waiting on us is nice.”
“It’s cool thinking that my dad sat here. That he ate the same food.”
“I like the thought of it.”
“I’m glad we made this trip,” she said. “I wanted answers. It’s weird, but the only answers I really got were when we were on the road.”
“You know you’re a true biker when you get far more satisfaction out of the trip than you do the destination.”
“I guess I’m a true biker, then.”
It was one more thing we had in common.
Not that I needed another reason to invite her into my life.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Joey
We’d been home from the trip for three days. As much as I enjoyed our time on the road, my unanswered questions left me feeling empty. I decided there were things about my father I would simply never find out. Accepting that decision as life’s reality, however, didn’t come easily.
We were halfway through our meal, and Percy couldn’t sit still. Fidgeting in his chair and having an attention span of no more than a few seconds, it seemed he was preoccupied with something.
It wasn’t uncommon for him to act sketchy. In fact, it was quite normal. In the past, however, he acted nervous when he was telling a story, or in deep thought. It seemed his mind worked at a speed much faster than his body, and he struggled physically to keep up the pace.
“Food’s good as fuck,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He took a drink of beer, set the bottle to the side, and then readjusted it. After checking its placement, he moved it again, and then scooped up another forkful of potatoes.
“Olive oil?”
I blinked a few times. “Excuse me?”
“Olive oil? On the potatoes?”
“Oh.” I smiled. “Yes. And basil.”
He nodded. “They’re good.”
“Thank you.”
His eyes darted around the room as he ate, never focusing on one thing for longer than a nanosecond.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Me?” He chuckled as he looked up. “Good as gold.”
His eyes dropped to his plate. While he poked at a small piece of chicken with his fork, the sound of a vehicle in the driveway caught my attention.
Oddly, he seemed to not even notice.
I stood and peered through the window. A white van was parked in the center of the driveway. “Someone just pulled in the driveway.”
“I’ll be damned,” he said.
He sauntered to the door and opened it.
A man stood on the porch with a large thin package. Half as tall as he was, and the same length as the porch, it was roughly six inches thick.
“Percy L. Welsh?” he asked.
“The one and only,” Percy said.
“Sign here.”
He handed Percy something. After signing it, he exchanged it for the package.
“Have a nice night,” the man said.
“Thanks.”
Percy carried it inside and leaned it against the couch. “Wasn’t expecting that.”
I looked at the package, and then at him. “What is it?”
“Hard saying. I’ve ordered a lot of shit in the last few weeks, and none of it has shown up yet.”
I wondered how many three foot by six foot objects he was expecting.
My curiosity
got the best of me. “Why don’t you open it?”
“Maybe later.”
He walked to the table and sat down.
It amazed me that he could go right back to eating. I really needed to know what was in the package. He, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care one way or another.
It could have been a tabletop. Or a workbench of some sort. I wondered for a moment if it was a headboard for a bed, and then decided not, due to the width being narrower than a mattress.
“After we eat?”
“I’ve got a few things to get done. I’ll get to it at some point, yeah.”
I let out a sigh and sat down. “Okay.”
Percy’s mood had changed completely. Now eating – and acting – normally, he seemed to have dismissed whatever it was that was troubling him earlier. I, on the other hand, was overcome with interest about the delivery.
“I think I’m done,” I said.
He looked up from his plate. “You didn’t finish your food.”
“I’m full.”
He nodded. “I’m close.”
I stared at the cardboard box while he continued to eat. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.
“What was that chicken again?”
I sighed. “Baked chicken.”
“You can add it to the short list,” he said.
I shifted my eyes to him and managed to smile. “I’ll do it.”
“What’s on your agenda tonight?” he asked.
“I was going to do some research, and then go to bed.”
We carried our plates to the kitchen and cleaned up the dinner mess together. After I wiped down the countertop, I turned to face him.
“Are you going to open it now?”
“Maybe in a bit,” he said. “I’ve got to respond to some emails first.”
“Baseball card business booming?”
He grinned. “I suppose.”
I took one last glance at the package. “I’ll be in my room.”
“Same here.”
“Let me know if you…when you open it.”
“Oh. That?” He turned toward the package as if he forgot it had arrived. “Yeah. I’ll let you know. First things first, though.”
I went to my room and began research on management practices. Fifteen minutes into my first webinar, the contents of the package no longer mattered.
Percy’s knocking on the door startled me. I pulled one of my earbuds and set my phone aside.