UnderCover Read online

  As they left the parking lot, Whisper leaned back in her seat and grinned at him. “Don’t drive too fast, Crockett,” she said. “My top might blow up.”

  Damn.

  The cleaning van was gone when they returned. The girls went to change and Stitch showed up in the kitchen as Crockett was making fresh coffee.

  “They workin’ on my sled?” he asked.

  “Things are coming along. I went back in the shop with Leoni for a few minutes. No truck outside, no new bikes to be seen anywhere, no broken down crates.”

  “No shit?” Stitch said. “Them fuckers are hidin’ something, dude. Probably got the scooters in that block room for some reason. New bikes, man. They should be set up and on the floor. A decent wrench coulda turned two of ‘em out last night. Find out anything else?”

  “I found out that when Danni and Whisper are in the showroom, there is a profound lack of personnel in the shop.”

  “Ha! I bet them fuckers were runnin’ up each other’s backs to get a peek at that shit.”

  Crockett related the girls’ appearance in their modified t-shirts and the general effect it had on the staff.

  “Shitty thing to do to perfectly good shirts, man. Them chicks are a pair to draw to, that’s the truth. And they’re hangin’ with you. Crockett, you are the talk a the town! As far as those guys know, you’re droppin’ two or three hundred grand a year on a pair a seat covers, man. You coulda pulled into that place in a APC with a recoilless rifle mounted on top an’ not got any more publicity.”

  “I dropped a little mystery on Leoni,” Crockett said. “He was curious before. He’ll be scratchin’ his ass now. You have to get back over there. After you get your bike, you’ll need to drop by now and then. Get a new jacket, or gloves, or a helmet, or a head rag. You know, become part of the scenery. They get used to you, the guys there’ll talk. Leoni may even try to pump you for more info. You answer enough questions with questions, you could learn a lot.”

  “That’s me, man. Undercover Angel. Do I get a trench coat an’ shit?”

  “I might be able to come up with something to win your way into their hearts.”

  “Like what?”

  “We’ll discuss it tomorrow. Whatdaya got planned for dinner tonight?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. I been out workin’ with the ladies all day. Wears me out.”

  “How ‘bout pizza?”

  “You gonna run into town for carry out?”

  “Naw. We got some flatbread stuff in the pantry. I’ll start on the sauce in a little while. We got some a that chopped-up mozzeralla in the fridge, some canned ‘shrooms and black olives in the cabinet, a big ol’ onion in that basket on the counter, some sliced deli ham in the fridge, and some left-over peppers from last night. Had enough Italian yet, man?”

  “Damn near.”

  Stitch grinned. “Lighten up, motherfucker. Italy’s where we got Joe DiMaggio and Sophia Loren.”

  Crockett got out of his rich guy clothes and took a long hot shower. His back grinched at him and his stump ached. Cursing the old injuries and advancing age, he rubbed some horse liniment into his low back and hip, moisturized the end of what was left of his leg, and stretched out on the bed a while. Then, dressed in lightweight sweats, he grabbed his crutches and stobbed his way into the kitchen. The ladies were seated at the snack bar watching Stitch peek into the oven and check the pizza. Whisper saw Crockett and her eyebrows lifted.

  “Crutches? You okay, Crockett?”

  “I’m fine,” he replied, moving around the end of the counter into a full field of view.

  “Shit!” Whisper squeaked. “What happened to your leg?”

  “Which one?” Crockett asked.

  “The one that doesn’t have foot! What are you, stupid?”

  Stitch and Danni began to laugh. “Oh, that one,” Crockett went on. “Squirrel attack. I broke it off when I fell outa the tree. I gotta learn not to attack those little bastards.”

  Whisper moved closer to him and stared at his legs. “I never knew anybody before that just had one foot. How high does it go?”

  “My foot?”

  “Your leg.”

  “All the way up to my ass. What are you, stupid?”

  Stitch pretty much lost it all at that point. Giggling, Danni jumped into the fray.

  “I think she’s talking about your stump, Crockett.”

  “Oh. I thought she was angling for a peek at my tushy. Silly me.”

  “Can I see it?” Whisper asked.

  “My tushy?”

  “Your, uh, stump, dammit.”

  “Oh, hell,” Crockett muttered, easing onto a stool at the bar. He raised the leg of his sweats and Whisper went down on one knee to get a better look.

  “You got a little sock cap thing on it,” she said.

  “Yeah. I moisturized it when I got out of the shower and put on my abbreviated appendage encapsulation device.”

  “Your what?”

  “My abbreviated appendage encapsulation device.”

  “That’s what they call it?”

  Crockett grinned. “No,” he said. “They call it a little sock cap thing.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “My stump sock?”

  “Your stump, idiot.”

  “If it’s important to you,” Crockett replied, and removed the sock.

  She dropped to both knees and peered closely at the stump for a moment as Crockett looked down at her, then gently poked it with her finger. “That hurt?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Whisper smiled up at him from her position at his feet. “Cool,” she said. “Fair’s fair. Anything of mine you’d like to see?”

  Crockett chuckled. “Just the top of your head, darling,” he said. “And I’ve already been looking at that.”

  Danni fell out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Crockett’s phone went off at around nine the next morning confirming that the New Guzzi was waiting. He found Stitch and Danni sitting together on the front deck. Whisper was not in evidence.

  “Get your shit together, Stitch,” he said. “Your bike is ready. I’ll take you over on the Goldstar.”

  “Oh, wow, man. I, uh, don’t, like, ride behind nobody, ya know.”

  “What?”

  “Ever since I was a kid, dude. I don’t trust nobody but me.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I trust you, Crockett. I just don’t trust nobody to drive a scooter when I’m sittin’ behind ‘em. Kinda a rule with me. Dig it.”

  “Let me get this straight. I gotcha a free old Guzzi, I gotcha the money to get it fixed up, I gotcha the gig you have now with Ivy, I helped turn your whole fucking life around, I climbed in the back of a helo, gunner-strapped in the freakin’ door with your crazy ass at the controls while Vietnam reruns danced through your twisted head, and you don’t trust me? I trusted your moldy ass, you refugee from a Grateful Dead road trip! I put my life in your hands more than once and you never let me down. Who the hell do you think you’re dealing with?”

  “Jesus, Crockett! Lighten up, willya? It ain’t personal, ya know? I just never ride behind nobody.”

  “You will today,” Crockett growled, hiding his smile, “or you’ll walk back to Chicago. Get your shit and meet me in the garage. Three minutes.”

  Crockett was priming the carbs when Stitch showed up, slipping into his jacket. Crockett ignored him as he went through the rest of the BSA’s start-up ritual. While he feathered the throttle to get the old beast warmed up a little, Stitch stiffly settled onto the seat behind him. During the fifteen-minute ride to the shop, not one word was exchanged between them. When they arrived at Leoni’s, Crockett stayed with the bike and didn’t shut it off. He looked at Stitch.

  “Go get your fucking beat-to-shit stove and let’s go. I’ll follow you back to the house in case you fall down and hurt yourself.”

  Without a word, Stitch turned his back and
stomped inside. Grinning, Crockett turned the BSA around, stayed lightly on the throttle to keep it running, and waited. Five minutes later, Stitch, riding a beautiful new, candy-apple red, Moto Guzzi Norge GT 8V purred by, flipped Crockett the bird, hit the street, lifted the front wheel off the ground a few inches, and departed. Flogging the Goldstar for all it was worth, Crockett set out in hot pursuit.

  Nearly twenty miles of hard riding later, Crockett rounded a woodsy corner on a blacktop road near Smithville Lake and saw the Norge parked on the gravel shoulder. In front of it, Stitch lay on his back in the Christ position. Laughing, Crockett parked his bike and looked down at the sprawled figure. Stitch grinned up at him.

  “Drive in the nails, man,” Stitch said. “I fuckin’ deserve ‘em, ya know?”

  “Get up, you idiot,” Crockett chuckled.

  Stitch clambered to his feet and gave Crockett a hug.

  “Knock it off,” Crockett said, pounding Stitch on the back. “People will think we’re in love.”

  “We are, motherfucker! At least I am. Oh, wow, dude!”

  “Just business, Stitch,” Crockett said. “Daniel Beckett couldn’t have one of his people ruining his image.”

  “Man, I went inside the place an’ Leoni was standin’ by the bike in the showroom, ya know? An’ he says, like, ‘here ya are.’ An I says, like, ‘what?’ An’ he tells me you’d been in an’ ordered this bike an’ some new shit for it an’ I was supposed to take it ‘cause you’d traded the old one in, an’ all like that, ya know? Man! I kept my shit together an’ didn’t freak or nothin’. Just took the scooter an’ fuckin’ left. It’s, like, mine?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh, wow! Like thanks and shit, man!”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank Ivy. It’s her money.”

  “Yeah, but you did it, dude. I may havta hug ya again, man!”

  Crockett backed away. “Let’s just go to the house, Stitch.”

  “You wanna ride it, man? This is one freakin’ mellow sled, ya know?”

  “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  “We oughta take the chicks for a little cruise when we get back, Crockett.”

  “That’s fine. Take off. I’ll follow you. I don’t wanna slow you down.”

  Stitch put his helmet on and straddled the Guzzi. He looked up and down the road for a moment, then turned back to Crockett.

  “Ah, I doan know where we are, dude,” he said.

  Crockett peered in both directions. “Me either,” he replied.

  “Far out,” Stitch said, and thumbed the starter.

  By the time they got home the wind had picked up a bit and low clouds were scudding toward the lake from the western horizon, bringing with them the scent of rain. The girls showed up in the garage to admire the new bike and it was decided that the possibility of precipitation precluded any two-wheeled adventures. Danni cornered Crockett in the kitchen after he got out of his leather duds and arrived in search of coffee and a possible sandwich.

  “I wanna go see my kid,” she said. “Can I have a couple a days off?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Have you got your work all done?”

  Danni stuck out a hip and put her fist on it. “Here we go,” she said.

  “I mean,” Crockett went on, “so far your efforts have been acceptable but, as your employer, it behooves me to keep a close eye on both your productivity and work effort. Suppose everyone wanted some time off. Then where would I be?”

  “And, I want Stitch to go with me,” Danni said.

  “That’s just what I’m talking about. First you, now Stitch. If I allow that happen, I’m left with a badly diminished work force.”

  “Mom’s right. You’re an asshole.”

  “And now you bring your mother into this. I thought better of you.”

  Danni smiled. “Stitch said he’d leave you the keys to the new Guzzi,” she said.

  “When would you lovely people care to depart?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “You have my blessing. Take the Mercedes.”

  The rain began shortly after a late lunch when the cleaning crew arrived for their Friday onslaught. Crockett retired to his bedroom to escape the hustle and bustle and phoned Satin.

  “Hey. Whatcha doin’?”

  “I’m preparing to clean Nudge’s litter box. Where do you keep your Haz-Mat suit?”

  “Don’t scoop it out. Just take it out into the woods a little ways, beat it on a tree, and add fresh.”

  “Crockett, you are such a male.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  “Oh. Your kid’s gonna go see her kid.”

  “She called this morning and asked if I thought you be okay with her taking off for a couple of days.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I told her you’d give her some shit about it, then be happy to let her go.”

  “She bribed me with the new bike. She’s taking Stitch with her.”

  “Stitch? That’ll make my sister happy. Ha! I can just see Velvet’s face when Danni shows up with an old-hippie!”

  “They’re taking the Mercedes.”

  “Even better! You coming over tonight?”

  “Why?”

  “I thought I’d take you out in the woods, beat you on a tree, and see if I could freshen you up a little.”

  “Sounds perfect. As time goes on in this twisted arrangement, I’ll have to stay closer to my new home. I gotta be back pretty early, though. I don’t want Whisper here by herself after Danni and Stitch leave.”

  “Just you and the porn princess all alone in that big house, huh?”

  “It’s a burden. Sometimes life is so hard I don’t think I can go on.”

  “Get over here, Crockett.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  Crockett arrived back at the house under crisp blue skies at about eight the next morning, just as Stitch and Danni were backing out of the garage. He waved them on their way and went into the kitchen. Twenty minutes later the bacon was nearly done and the last of three blueberry pancakes sizzled on the griddle. Crockett pigged out, made some fresh coffee, and was putting his plate in the dishwasher when a bleary Whisper, wearing a large and much abused Hard Rock Café t-shirt that hung below her knees, wobbled her way into the kitchen.

  Coffee?” he asked.

  “Slurm,” she replied.

  “Cream with that?”

  “Yebf,” came the answer.

  “Sugar?”

  “Nawlb,” she grunted, clambering up on a stool and holding her head in her hands. Her hair hung over her face as she stared blankly at the counter top.

  Grinning, Crockett poured the coffee, added cream, and slid the cup under her face. As the aroma reached her, Whisper ascended another notch toward consciousness.

  “You’ve never looked lovelier,” Crockett said.

  “Shut up,” the girl mumbled, attempting to find the cup handle.

  “Not a morning person, huh?”

  “Fuck morning,” Whisper said, trying a sip.

  “Beautiful day out there. Nice breeze, blue skies.”

  “What are you, a weatherman?”

  “Want something with your coffee?”

  “Toast. Little butter. Don’t talk.”

  Chuckling, Crockett toasted half a bagel, slathered on some veggie cream cheese, and slid it over beside the coffee cup. Whisper peered at it.

  “Too much fat,” she said.

  “Discounting your boobs, you weigh about eighty pounds. Eat it or I’ll rub it in your hair.”

  “Oh, hell,” Whisper said. She picked up the coffee, grabbed the bagel, and staggered from the room. Crockett watched her go, swabbed down the counter, and headed for the shower.

  An hour later, bored and sitting in the living area thumbing through channels on the TV, Crockett looked up when Whisper returned. She was wearing skin-tight black hip-hugger leather jeans, her spike-heeled demi boots, the chopped-off red Guzzi t-shirt, and, on backwards, her new
black Moto Guzzi ball cap. He hair was ponytailed, her makeup perfect, and she held sunglasses, a black windbreaker, and Stitch’s shorty helmet.

  “Let’s go for a ride,” she said.

  Crockett grinned. “Why not.”

  “This thing is loose,” Whisper said, wiggling the top box on the Guzzi’s rear rack.

  Crockett tested the offending piece of luggage. “Well,” he replied, “I wanted to get you some suitable leather anyway. They can fix it while we’re at the shop.”

  Whisper put her cap in the box, slipped on Stitch’s helmet, tightened the chinstrap, put on her sunglasses and smiled at him. “I’m ready,” she said.

  Crockett pushed several un-needed thoughts out of his mind, swung a leg over the saddle and lifted the bike off the side stand. He thumbed the starter and the Guzzi gurgled to life. As he balanced the bike, Whisper clambered up behind him. Crockett looked over his shoulder.

  “If I were you,” he said, “I wouldn’t lean back on that top box until we get it fixed.”

  Whisper hooked her thumbs in the belt of his chaps and snuggled into his back. “I hadn’t planned to,” she said.

  The bike was outstanding. As smooth as anything he’d ever ridden, the Guzzi handled like a dream. Its shifts were positive, its cornering secure and without surprise, and its power and torque amazing. Crockett threw the thing around switchbacks and bends, braking hard and accelerating rapidly enough to lift the front wheel a bit. It didn’t falter and didn’t complain. Neither did Whisper. Never counter-leaning or anticipating, she hung in there, even in extreme turns and violent acceleration, keeping her body aligned with the bike. When they finally coasted to a stop at Leoni’s cycles, Crockett pulled off his helmet and told her so.

  “You did well, kid.”

  Whisper smiled. “You, too,” she said. “You ride real good for a old guy.”

  “In spite of the fact you make a compliment sound like an insult, go find yourself some riding leather. What you have on will not do.”