Page 131 of Nuts

Ridding myself of my Mickey Mantle #311 was like pushing a family member off a cliff. I knew I’d never see him again. I’d never have the pleasure of dusting off the case, measuring the edges of the card, admiring the lack of fraying on the corners, or comparing it to the many for sale on the internet, knowing mine was better.

It wasn’t an easy thing to do, but it was necessary.

The cause was well worth it.

My father would be proud.

“Yeah, I said. Me and my buddy Mickey. Mickey Mantle.”

He grinned and handed me the card. “I’ll look forward to seeing the two of you at noon.”

* * *

I looked at the velour cloth. Four examples were displayed, all facing me. The fluorescent lighting over the case did wonders for improving clarity and magnifying beauty, but it wasn’t enough.

I pointed at the cloth and wagged my index finger from left to right. “No, no, no, and no.”

She looked at me and blinked a few times. “Is there a problem?”

“Quality. I don’t want what everyone else has. I want something different. You know when you buy a shirt, and then you see someone else wearing the exact same thing? Imagine that in this circumstance. It’d make you sick, wouldn’t it?”

Her eyebrows raised. “Possibly.”

“I want something that no one else has, or can have. I want something that’d make everyone say, damn, I wish I could have one of those, but I know I can’t.”

She grinned a shallow grin. “I’m afraid you’re in the wrong place. You might try David and Sons on La Jolla Village Dive.”

“Know the address?”

“It’s in the 4000 block.”

“Appreciate your help.”

I rode to the location, circled the buildings, and found the shop. After parking the bike, I pulled my backpack from the saddlebag and walked inside.

The man behind the counter looked at the backpack, and then at me. “How can I help you?”

“Rumor has it that you specialize in products that aren’t like everyone else’s.”

He was in his mid-forties, had a shaved head, and was wearing a navy suit. He brushed his hands along the thighs of his slacks and then clasped his hands together. “I’d say that’s an accurate statement.” He craned his neck to the side and peered toward the parking lot. “Is that a Heritage Softy?”

I nodded. “Sure is.”

“An Evo, isn’t it?”

If he could spot an Evo engine from his vantage point, he was pretty knowledgeable about Harleys.

“You ride?”

“Collect. Ride. Get threatened with divorce. Sell a few. Buy a few more and sneak them in the garage. When she notices them, I sell one of them, and keep the other.” He extended his hand. “I’m David.”

“Percy.” I shook his hand. “Which one’s your favorite?”

“I like looking at my old ’52 Pan. I like riding the Road King.”

“The ‘King’s a good sled.”

He nodded toward my bike. “Are the bars comfortable?”