Part 20 (2/2)

”So do we,” she said. ”That's why we do what we do. The planet is in danger.”

”I meant the one in the back of the truck.”

She looked at me, puzzled, then shrugged. ”Oh. Right. Yeah, it's pretty cool.”

Scarecrow approached us, looking at me nervously. ”What's going on?”

”I was just admiring your float,” I said.

He looked at Dorothy. ”Everything cool?”

She nodded but didn't say anything.

”Relax,” I said. ”The cops aren't going to jump out of the bushes.”

They both glanced at the hedges for a long moment.

”You were right about George,” I said. ”He did know some things.”

Scarecrow nodded and Dorothy muttered, ”Told you.”

”And he was going to do the right thing,” I said. ”At least, I think he was. But I just thought you both should know that.”

They looked at each other, unsure what to say. They shuffled their feet and looked around for a moment.

”We miss George,” Dorothy finally said. ”We're going to make him proud.”

”Make him proud?”

She pursed her lips and both of them began backing up toward their float.

”You'll see,” she said. ”You'll see.”

40.

The roar of motorcycles filled the air behind the 4-H float and it took me a moment to realize it was the Petal Dawgs in the ready stall behind ours. I walked past our float and Butch waved a hand at me from atop his ma.s.sive bike.

He flipped up his goggles. ”Hey, Deuce. Looks like we're following you today.”

”Looks like it.”

”We'll try not to run you over,” he said, chuckling. Then he gestured at the float. ”Those things on your float? They look like . . .”

”Cuc.u.mbers,” I said. ”They're cuc.u.mbers and carrots.”

He stared for a long moment. ”Ohhhhhhh. Okay. Sure.”

A clattering and sc.r.a.ping drew our attention to the other side of the street. A motorcycle was on its side and a guy was squirming beneath it like a trapped snake.

”Be right back,” Butch said, jumping off his bike, jamming the stand down, and hustling over to help.

A group gathered around the trapped man and helped to lift the bike off of him. He stood and brushed off his jeans, looking embarra.s.sed. He adjusted the bright red bandanna on his head, tugged on the leather vest with the dog paw on the back and nodded all around.

Butch walked back over. ”Some of these guys, the bikes are still new to them.”

”You don't say.”

”Archie there, the guy that took the spill, he's a doctor over in Argyle,” he said. ”He bought the bike a few months ago, but hasn't been able to ride it much. He's usually in surgery when we go out riding.”

”Unlucky.”

”We encourage everyone to take safety courses, but sometimes they don't have the time,” Butch said, frowning. ”And some of these guys, they just don't understand how heavy these things can be.”

”You've had yours awhile?”

”Oh, I've been riding since I was a kid,” he said, smiling. ”My pop was a mechanic and used to buy 'em, fix 'em up, and sell 'em. I'd take 'em on test runs before we gave 'em back. One of the reasons I became an accountant was so I'd have enough money to indulge.” He patted the bike. ”I've got a couple more at home in the garage.”

”Cool,” I said. ”I've never ridden.”

”I'd be happy to take you out if you're ever interested,” he said. ”Of course, not on a group ride. That's against the rules.”

I looked around at the Petal Dawgs. They were white collar guys living out their weekend fantasies. Most of them moved awkwardly around their bikes, more comfortable looking at them and showing them off than actually sitting on them.

”Maybe,” I said. ”Thanks for the offer.” I gestured at his group. ”You mentioned the other night that you were planning something? In George's honor?”

Butch's face grew serious. ”Right. We are.”

”Can I ask what it is?”

”Sorry. It's a surprise,” he said. ”Nothing disruptive. But we want everyone to remember George.”

”Fair enough,” I said.

”You learn anything new?”

I thought for a moment. ”I think I've got some pieces of the puzzle. Just not sure how they all fit together.”

He lowered his head. ”You need any muscle, you can count on us.”

”Muscle?”

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