"Just be careful with my damn dog. That animal gets hurt and you and I are having words."
Well, wasn't he turning into a good owner.
Strapping on his helmet, he drew on his leather jacket and straddled his bike. As he cranked the gas, his ride gave out a nasty, low cursing sound, and the power of all those horses rumbled up through his body.
Man, however much of a pain in the ass Adrian could be, he knew what he was doing with engines. Which might finally explain why Eddie could handle living with him.
On an unspoken we're-out-of-here, all three of them took off into the sunshine, Adrian in the lead, and Eddie in the rear with Dog.
Turned out, Jim's bike was straight-up magic, a beast with no manners at all, and as they went through farm country, he started to get a feel for the thing.
And whatever, you didn't need wind in your hair to be free.
Adrian ended up taking them down by the Hudson, heading toward town, and when they started to hit the traffic lights by the city's riverside parks, Jim took to praying for reds - just because accelerating was so frickin' satisfying.
As they pulled up to the intersection of Twelfth and River streets, he shouted up to Adrain, "I need gas."
"There's an Exxon up here, right?"
"Yeah, two blocks."
When the light changed, they roared off, the sounds of their engines exploding into the air and being amplified as they went beneath the overpasses of the highway. At the gas station, they pulled up to the pumps and Jim hit the high-test.
"How're the brakes?" Adrian asked as he eyed a blonde getting out of a beater. The woman headed into the quickie mart with a hip swivel and a half, the fringe of her long hair tickling the tattoo at the small of her back.
Jim had to laugh. The mouthy bastard was instantly distracted and clearly considering the merits of trailing her inside and asking her if she wanted to play with his screwdriver - which, given the way she kept looking over her shoulder at him, was going to be one big, fat yes.
"Why do I get the feeling mine are better than yours," Jim murmured as he pulled the nozzle out of his tank.
"You mean brake-wise?" Adrian's head swiveled around. "You think? 'Cuz I do believe you were the one getting laid Thursday night, not me."
"And to think I'd decided your company was worth your grease skills." Jim crammed the nozzle back into its place on the pump. "Musta been out of my damn mind."
He remounted and put his helmet back on. "So you want to head back - "
"I'm sorry."
Jim stopped in the process of buckling up the strap under his chin. Adrian was standing in front of him, the guy's face grim, his eyes focused on the sky above the gas station. He was dead serious. Jim frowned. "What are you sorry about what?"
"Pointing her out to you at the club. I was thinking this was all sort of a game, but it's not. I shouldn't have encouraged you down that road. It wasn't right."
That Adrian was so bothered by what was actually just normal guy shit was a surprise, but maybe there was some marshmallow under that crispy exterior.
Jim put out his palm. "It's cool. We're cool."
Adrian took what was offered. "I'll try not to be an ass**le all of the time."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
Adrian smiled. "Yeah, maybe I'll just alternate with being a dickhead."
"Also something you could easily pull off." Jim started up his hog and curled his fist on the accelerator to pump the fresh gas right into those big, hungry pistons. "Shall we, gentlemen?"
"Abso," Adrian said as he hopped on his own bike. "You go first this time."
"Dog okay there, Eddie?" Jim asked while eyeing the animal - who seemed thrilled with the adventure.
"We're rock steady."
As Jim headed them back in the direction they'd come from, he took in the yellow of the sunlight and the bright white of the clouds and the blue of the sky and the gray of the road. Over to the left, the river paralleled the road, as did the walking path that had been built along the shore. Here and there, fledgling trees that looked like pencils poked into the earth forced the asphalt to wind around as did flower beds that would no doubt be sprouting tulips and daffodils in a couple of weeks.
The Riverside Diner was another shoreline marker, an old lady of a dive that was the kind of place Jim would feel comfortable in and something he'd been meaning to check out. Word was it had pancakes to die for -
Jim eased up on the throttle. In the parking lot, a BMW M6 that looked a hell of a lot like Vin's was parked next to a green Toyota Camry.
And there was a pair of legs sticking out between the cars, as if a man were lying out on the ground.
Major U-ey action. Lot of gas.
Because Jim had no doubt who belonged to those two shiny loafers.
Whipping into the parking lot, he gunned for the woman who was crouched down by the...yup, it was Vin diPietro who was spread out belly to the heavens. The guy wasn't moving and had a face like someone had stuck a wax mold of his bruised features on the free end of his spine. "What happened?" Jim hit the kickstand and got off the bike.
The woman from the club looked up at him. "He just went down. Like last night."
"Shit." Jim crouched down as Adrian and Eddie pulled up. Before they could get off their Harleys, he waved for them to stay put, thinking the fewer people involved in this situation, the better.
"How long has he been out?" he asked the woman.
"Only about five minutes or so - Oh, my God...hi."
She leaned down as the other guy's eyes opened slowly. At first, they locked on Marie-Terese, then on Jim.
"Wakey-wakey," Jim murmured as he checked to see whether those pupils responded to the light in the same way. When they did, he was only marginally relieved. "How about we get you to a doc."
Vin grunted, and as he struggled to sit up, Marie-Terese tried to get him to stay put. "There's nothing wrong with me," the guy said gruffly, "and no, I don't have a concussion."
Jim frowned, thinking that even hardheaded ass**les tended to take notice when they back-flatted it out in public, but Vin wasn't surprised - or worried. He was...resigned.
He'd had experience with this before, hadn't he.
As the guy started to look around, Jim glanced over at Adrian and Eddie and nodded his head at the road, giving them a signal to head off. The pair took the hint, backing their bikes up and palming a wave before leaving.
"Shit..." Vin said as he rubbed his face. "That wasn't fun."
"Yeah, I think that's self-evident." Jim glanced over at the dark-haired woman and wondered why the two had met up. If Vin wanted to keep things quiet about having any connection with those dead bodies, hooking up with her was not the brightest idea - even if it was just for coffee.
"I don't know what happened," she said. "We just had breakfast - "
"You only had coffee," Vin muttered, indicating that his short-term memory was working. Assuming she hadn't had French toast, too.
The woman lifted her hand as if she wanted to soothe him, but then dropped her arm. "He ate and we talked and we came out here and - "
"I'm okay now." Vin pushed himself up off the ground and steadied himself on the Camry's hood. "Just fine."
Jim grabbed the guy's elbow. "We're going to the doc now."
"The hell we are." Vin pulled his arm back. "I'm going home."
Well, shit. Given the hard angle of the guy's jaw, the only shot Jim had at helping was playing chauffeur and taking him back to the Commodore. "I'll drive you across town, then."
Vin opened his mouth to argue, but the woman put her hand on his shoulder. "What if that happens again while you're behind the wheel?"
As their eyes made contact and held, the sun broke through the dappling clouds and a shaft of liquid warmth shot down from the sky and bathed them in a glow.
Jim frowned, and glanced up at the heavens, half expecting to see a live-action Michelangelo moment, with the hand of God pointing at the two. But no, just clouds and sky and sun...and a flock of Canadian geese honking their way south.
Jim refocused on the pair of them. What had been painfully lacking over dinner when Vin had looked at Devina was totally and completely showing now: His eyes were locked on the woman in front of him, and Jim was willing to bet his left nut that if he'd asked the guy anything from what she was wearing to how tall she was to what, if any, perfume she wore, the answer coming back would have been one hundred percent accurate.