Page 89 of Rigid

“The music. How do you remember all the songs?”

“Seventeen years from now,” she said. “And you’ll know all of them, too.”

I hoped she was right.

And, I was eager to spend the next seventeen years finding out.

TWENTY-SIX

Smokey

“I ain’t riding with the cocksucker,” P-Nut said. “I don’t give a fuck.”

“He’s a good kid.” I wiped a few water droplets off the rear fender. “Give him a chance.”

He shot me a look. “He ain’t got a neck.”

I looked the bike over, and then met his gaze. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t trust neckless fuckers.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

He shrugged. “Trust you.”

“Anyone besides me?”

He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled the smoke through his nose. “I’m thinking not. Other’n Eddie.”

“No shit,” I said.

I wiped down the gas tank, and took a step back. “Spotless. Once a year, whether it needs it or not.”

He took another drag off his cigarette. “Would you let him ride your bike?”

A true biker never let anyone ride his bike that he didn’t trust 100%, and I trusted no one 100%, except for P-Nut.

“Fuck no,” I responded.

He blew the smoke to the side. “Why not?”

“Don’t trust--” I paused, realizing what I was about to say. “That’s different.”

He shook his head. “Sure as fuck isn’t.”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“I’d let you ride it,” I said.

He clenched the cigarette in his teeth and shrugged. “You trust me. That, motherfucker, is my point. You want to tell yourself you trust him, but you don’t.”

“I just want him to get to know some of the fellas. He’s been asking.”

“If he’s askin’ questions, he’s probably a cop.”

“You think everyone’s a cop.”