Part 39 (1/2)
”That's the same chopped hog we saw in the funeral picture.”
My pulse stepped up.
”Are you sure?”
”Auntie T, that is the sweetest piece of Milwaukee iron I have ever seen. You could really ride the edge on those wheels.”
”That's why I was asking about the other picture.”
”Did you find it?”
”No.”
”Doesn't matter. That's the same bike.”
”How can you be sure?”
”Can you zoom it up?”
I magnified that part of the photo.
”Jesus. That is five hundred pounds of thunder.”
”Tell me how you know it's the same bike.”
”Like I said before, it's an old FLH, a police touring cycle that's been stripped and customized. That's no big deal. But it's the way he did the chop that's so b.i.t.c.hing.”
One by one he again pointed out the bike's wonders. ”This dude wanted a truly raw machine, so he changed the power-to-weight ratio.”
His finger touched the front of the bike.
”He lengthened the wheel base and raised the front end by installing longer front forks. Man, those puppies must be twenty inches over stock. He probably cut out a section of the neck of the frame. You've really got to know your s.h.i.+t to pull that off.”
”Why?”
”If you screw it up the bike will split and you'll find yourself eating cement at high speed.”
He indicated the handlebars.
”He used dog bones, steel struts to raise the handlebars.”
”Mm.”
”The guy that did this was definitely not interested in comfort. He's riding a springer front end, that's one with external springs, not hydraulic shock absorbers, and a 'hard tail' frame.”
”A hard tail?”
”It's a rigid frame with no rear shock absorbers. It's called a 'hard tail' because your a.s.s really takes a beating.”
He pointed to a set of pins at the front of the bike.
”Check out the highway pegs.”
I must have looked blank.
”He's got extra foot pegs up front, and a forward-positioned custom-s.h.i.+ft-and-brake a.s.sembly so he can stretch out his feet. This guy is into serious puttin'.”
”And you're sure this is the same bike we saw at Silvestre's grave?”
”Same righteous hog. But that's not my only clue.”
I knew I was in over my depth, and said nothing.
”Look at this.” He pointed at the gas tank. ”He's sculpted the tank with some kind of molding material. What does that look like to you?”
I bent close. The front end did look odd, but the shape brought nothing to mind. I peered at it, forcing my brain cells to draw meaning from the tapered form.
Then I saw it.
”Is that unusual?” I asked.
”It's the only one I've ever seen. The guy's a regular Rodin with bondo.”
He stared at the screen, mesmerized. Then, ”Yeah! Jammin' in the wind sitting on a snake's head. Hee ha-”
He stopped short and an odd look crossed his face. Then he leaned in, back, then in again, like a bird sighting on a curious insect.
”Can you bring that guy's face up?”
”The one on the bike?”
”Yeah.”
”It will blur as I enlarge it.”
”Try.”
I did, then went through the same manipulations I'd performed with Claudel. As lines and shadows s.h.i.+fted, congealing pixels into recognizable features, then reordering them into meaningless patterns of color and shape, I gradually realized what my nephew had spotted.
In twenty minutes I'd done what I could do. During that time we had not spoken. I broke the silence.
”What made you recognize him?”
”I'm not sure. Maybe the jaw. Maybe the nose. It grabbed me as I was pointing out the snake's head. Before that I hadn't even noticed the rider.”
We stared at the man on the marvelous hog. And he looked into s.p.a.ce, intent on a happening long since past.