Part 14 (2/2)
”Post-its?”
”To post at each host town so people know where to find you.”
”Oh, yeah. Uh, no. We don't have any Post-it thingies.”
Like I wanted to draw a map so people could find me. The fewer witnesses, the better, I say.
”Maybe we'll see each other on the ride.”
”Yeah, maybe.”
”You got a phone number?”
”I, uh, it's a new phone, and I don't-”
”Here's mine.” He pulled a business card out of his f.a.n.n.y pack.
”Oh. Thanks.” I looked at the card. ”Kenny's Caricatures?”
”I'm an artist. A cartoonist. I do caricatures.” He took out a felt tip pen, turned the business card over, and in a few short strokes, a frizzy-haired cowgirl complete with turned up nose, a bit of an overbite, and sporting a pretty nifty Stetson stared up at me.
”Wow. How do you do that?” I asked, envying his artsy gift. I totally go all green-eyed-monster on folks who draw, paint, or create objects-de-art. The best I can manage are stick figures-and most of the time they look more like freaky looking spiders than humans. Van Gogh, I isn't.
”Name's Kenneth. Kenneth Grey.” The artiste held out his hand, and I got one of those handshakes that make you feel like you've taken hold of a large, overcooked noodle. Ugh. I supposed artists, much like pianists, brain surgeons, and hand models, had to protect their hands and digits. ”It's Kenny for short, like the card says. And you are?”
Before I could give him Dixie's name, my hat was yanked off my head.
I whirled around. Patrick Dawkins grinned down at me, my hat now sitting on his blonde head.
”Hey! That's my hat! Anyone know where to find a trooper so I can report a theft? Oh, wait. You are a trooper!”
Patrick grinned. ”Tressa Turner. Am I glad to see you! Someone has been circulating scandalous rumors about you. I'm pleased to see they were unfounded.”
”Trooper?” That got Kenny's attention. ”You're a trooper?”
”Guilty,” Patrick said, with a questioning tilt of his head in Kenny's direction.
”Oh. Sorry. This is Kenny Grey. He's doing TribRide, too.” I showed him the business card drawing. ”Kenny does drawings.”
”Hey. How you doing? Oh. Look at the time. I have to go,” Kenny said.
”Have a great ride,” I said, staring at Kenny's back when he hurried away.
”New friend?” Dawkins asked.
I shrugged.
”Interesting fellow,” he observed.
”You have no idea,” I said. ”So what was this scandalous rumor you made reference to?”
”You haven't heard about the wagers?”
I frowned. ”Wagers? What wagers?”
”The pools at the Dairee Freeze. And the Gazette. And Hazel's.”
”What are you talking about?”
”According to my sources, there are various wagers and pools being set up regarding your...TribRide experience.” Patrick explained.
”Pools?”
”You know. Bets on when you'll take your first spill. How many days you'll get through before you quit. Wagers on whether you'll even show up. On how many tubes you'll go through.”
”Bike tubes?”
Patrick had the good sense to look embarra.s.sed. ”Hemorrhoid cream,” he said.
”What! The gall! The nerve!”
The sheer moneymaking genius!
”I see your buddy, Manny, over there. Security detail, huh?” Patrick observed.
”He knows a guy who knows a guy,” I explain.
”He's done the security thing before,” Patrick said.
I looked at him. ”What do you mean?”
Patrick shrugged. ”He looks like he knows what he's doing.”
”How can you tell?”
”Well, for one thing, his eyes are always moving. He's always looking. And he makes a habit of watching people's hands.”
”Hands?”
”It's what pros do. They focus on the movement of a person's hands. That way, they spot a threat sooner.”
”And you say professional security personnel use this, er, technique?”
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