Tinkerbell on Walkabout Read Free

sorely
disappointed in my current obereg , which apparently does not cover
Harleys. I’ll have to raise
this issue with Mom, who assured me it had “good stuff” when she gave it to me.
    Bob pokes his head out of his office with a frown on his
face. “That doesn’t sound good,” he says, then recognizes me. “Well, if it
isn’t July’s friend. Gina, right?”
    “Yep, and as you can tell, I’ve got a problem. Old Boris
here just keeled over on me.”
    He comes out into the yard, wiping his hands on a royal blue
rag and flashing a smile. “So, what’s ailing Boris?”
    “He’s in dire need of bypass surgery and I left my scalpels
and forceps at home. Got any I can borrow, Doctor Bob?”
    “Sure thing. Lemme set you up.”
    He does just that, while I haul the listless bike into the
well-lit garage, which is every bit as neat as the rest of the place. I smell
motor oil and Borax, but little of the cold, gritty aroma most garages have.
    As Bob lays out the tools I’ll need, I ask after the local
raccoon population. “You have any more trouble with them the last couple of
days?”
    He gives me a thoughtful look, the pleats between his brows
deepening. “Well now, I’m not sure. That is, I’m not sure about it being coons.
You think coons could move one of these old wrecks?”
    “ Move one? As in ‘relocate?’”
    “More like disarrange. I like things neat—”
    “Gosh, Bob, I hadn’t noticed.”
    He favors me with a wry grin. “Like I say: orderliness—”
    “Next to Godliness,” I finish. “So someone disarranged some
of your cars? Kids playing pranks?”
    He scratches around in his close-cropped hair. “Well, I’d think that, but usually pranksters try
to see how much they can get away with. Show off stuff. Not subtle. This was real subtle. Hell,
I don’t know if anyone else
would even notice.”
    “Drove you nuts, didn’t it?” I guess.
    He laughs. A big laugh that uses his considerable chest
cavity as a sounding board. “Got that right. It didn’t take that long to figure out something
was wrong, but figuring out what was wrong nearly gave me a nervous
tic.”
    “So, what was wrong?”
    He looks sheepish. “You’re gonna laugh.”
    I cross my heart.
    “One car was turned just a bit. You know—didn’t quite line
up with the others. That’s all. Makes me feel kind of silly saying it. Couldn’t
have been off by more than six inches.”
    “Kind of a big job for raccoons. Sounds more like someone
who knows you is yanking your chain.”
    “Yeah? Well, I may just have to do a little detective work
to figure it out. You need help with that carb?” He nods toward the Harley.
    “Nah, I can handle it.”
    “I bet.”
    I’ve worked on the Harley for maybe half an hour when Perry
Dixon drops in. He stands in the office doorway, watching from where I suspect
he thinks he is invisible.
    “Hey, Perry,” I say after a while. “I could use a hand with
this.”
    In the bike’s rearview mirror, I see him jump.
    “Sure, Tink. What d’you need?”
    “Aside from you not calling me Tink, I’d like you to start
her up while I play with the mixture.”
    He does as asked and watches me fiddle with the fuel-to-air
ratio until like what I hear.
    “You do that well,” he tells me as I put the tools away.
“Ever think of becoming a mechanic? Pays well.”
    “Perry, I can play with engines, but I don’t like playing with engines. I
admit to a certain sense of satisfaction at having just replaced that
carburetor almost all by myself, but it doesn’t blow my skirt up.”
    He leans on the bike and gives me a disconcertingly direct
look. “What does blow your skirt up?”
    “Police work.” I am stunned at how immediately that pops out
of my mouth, and how completely without irony.
    He shakes his head. “You and July. You got any idea how
weird that is, Tink? Two beautiful women who want to bust guys’ asses for a
living.”
    Wow—a compliment. “I didn’t say anything about busting
asses.