F Wilson - Fatal Error

It took Jack a couple of seconds to realize he was talking about his sister. Rosa had been having some nasty trouble with her ex-husband. Jack had fixed it. And yeah, he'd kind of forgotten about it.

"Long time ago."

"This family, we got long memories. You know that."

"And nobody else was supposed to know."

Julio's deprecatory shrug could not quite hide his pride in his younger brother. "Juanito figured it out."

"Good for him." Jack held the door and nodded toward the street. "Back her out onto the sidewalk and you can show me how it works."

Juan rolled his eyes. "Aw, you ain't gonna tell me you never been on a bike before."

"Course I have. Just been a while is all. Be with you in a minute." As the door closed behind Juan and the bike, Jack turned to Julio. "Got anything I can use if I run into trouble?"

Julio's eyebrows lifted. "You ain't carrying?"

Jack cocked his head and gave him a stare.

"Silly me," Julio said with a twisted grin.

"Silence would be golden."

Julio ducked behind the bar and returned with something held tight against his outer thigh, shielding it from the room. When he reached Jack he slipped him a leather slapper. Jack gave it a surreptitious heft.

"Isn't this-?"

"Yeah, the one you got me."

Jack had bought it years ago from Abe as a gift for Julio. Basically a foot-long blackjack-fourteen ounces of lead in a flattened leather sleeve with a wrist strap. A fight ender.

"What if you need it?"

"I still got the bat and my little fren."

Little fren… Julio's borrowed name for the double-ought, sawed-off ten-gauge he kept under the bar.

Jack pocketed the sap and headed for the door.

Out on the sidewalk, the night had quieted some. Only an occasional echoing blare. Drivers seemed to have realized the futility of leaning on the horn. In fact some of the cars were empty, temporarily abandoned while their owners found something better to do-like hang out in Julio's.

Jack turned his attention to the bike. It looked like it had seen better days.

"Kind of old."

Juan puffed his chest. "Vintage Yamaha, man. Custom seat, titanium-"

"Great. I need a quick tour so I can get on the road."

"What you use to ride?"

"Harleys."

"Cool. But these ride different."

Juan quickly ran through the gearshift, the clutch, and the throttle. Pretty standard, except Jack hadn't driven anything with a clutch in ages.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Get into an accident and break something major or, worse, wind up dead-what good would he be to Gia and Vicky then?

But it was the only idea left.

He thought of them landing and walking into an airport in chaos. Could they rent a car? Maybe, maybe not. Depended on whether the rental companies' computers were up and running. And then where could they drive? Not into the city. Maybe just catch a shuttle to an airport hotel. Yeah, that might work, but Jack wanted to be with them when they did it.

So it was Easy Rider time.

"Remember, this ain't no Harley. You gotta keep your weight forward on these models. The front wheel comes up easy if you don't. Keep your feet on the pegs and hug that gas tank with your knees."

"Got it."

"Yeah?" Juanito looked a little uncertain. "Let's see you ride."

Jack looked at the dead-still traffic on the street. "Where?"

"Yeah. You gotta point."

"I'll take her over to the museum," Jack said. "Run her around the lot to get used to her."

"Good idea. Want me to come?"

"Nah. You stay here and hang with your brother. Don't wait for me though. I don't know when I'll be able to return this thing."

Truth was, he wasn't sure what he was going to do with the bike once he got to the airport. No way he could ride Gia and Vicky back on it. If anything happened to it, he'd buy Juan a new one-the bike of his choice.

"You leave it anywhere, you chain it good." He touched the pouch behind the seat. "Chain and lock's in here. Key's with the ignition."

"Got it."

He swung his leg over and revved the engine as he got comfortable on the seat. He could half walk, half ride to the museum, only a few blocks from here. Use the sidewalks if he had to.

"Take this," Juan said, holding out the helmet.

Jack looked at his bruised, cut chin. "You say it's rough out there?"

"Guy tried to jump me when I slowed down."

Jack waved off the helmet. "You hang on to it."

"It's the law."

"Somehow I don't think the law's gonna be worrying about biker helmets tonight."

Besides, if things were heading south out there, he didn't want anything interfering with his peripheral vision.

The Museum of Natural History's lot was deserted and in just a few minutes Jack felt like he'd never stopped riding. On the way to Julio's earlier he'd picked up an oversize gray Nets hoodie as an extra layer against the cold. He'd slipped it over his jacket. Now he pulled up the hood, tied it tight to give him a full view, and got moving.

The traffic on Central Park West… could he call it traffic? The word implied movement. No movement here. More like a parking lot. And little or no space between bumpers. People had inched forward until they were all practically touching. A lot of drivers had turned off their engines and sat, huddled lumps of frustration behind their steering wheels, staring out at the tableau, despairing of ever moving again.

Jack rode uptown on the downtown-bound side until he found a small pod of cars with enough space between their bumpers to let him through to the park side.

Now at least he was heading in the direction the traffic was pointing. He found narrow riding room on the shoulder. The sidewalk to his right separated him from the park, and was less crowded than those he'd seen farther west. Beyond a low stone-and-concrete wall, the trees loomed large and leafless against the night sky, the closer ones lit by the sodium streetlights, those farther in little more than dark smudges.

The park tempted him. He was sure the traverses were as jammed as every other street in the city, but he'd have better off-road opportunities there. A no-brainer if the sun was up. But on this night, in the dark… uh-uh. Odds of running into a wolf pack were a little too high. Be a different story in a few months when he'd start the Annual Park-a-Thon to raise money for the local Little League team. Then he'd dress in appropriate tourist gear and wander off the paths, looking to get jumped so he could mug the muggers for donations. But he couldn't afford any trouble tonight. No time for it.

So he'd have to settle for ten or so miles per hour along the CPW shoulder. He could have gone faster, but limited his speed for fear of someone opening a car door in front of him. Even so, he felt like he was whizzing by.

He'd reached the Nineties, closer to the uptown end of the park, and was passing the twin-towered mass of the Eldorado-one of his favorite Manhattan buildings-when a man's voice called out behind him.

"Young man! On the cycle! Wait!"

If the guy had called out, Ay, yo!, Jack would have kept going, but the cultured tone made him look back. An older gent was standing by the open door of a limo two cars back, waving.

"Please stop!"

Jack stopped and waited as the man hurried toward him. He looked maybe sixty, with dyed hair, wearing what looked like a cashmere coat. His jaw barely moved when he spoke.

"Can you give me a ride? I must get to Columbus and Ninety-sixth. I'll pay you-handsomely, I assure you."

That was the West Side. Jack was headed east.

He shook his head. "Out of my way."

As he started to kick off, the guy grabbed his arm.

"No, wait! I'll buy the bike from you. The whole bike. How much do you want for it? Name your price."