Page 31 of Misadventures of a Biker

The photos—at least some of them—were seven months old, which coincided with Kate’s comment of the relationship ending six months prior.

Seeking revenge on the man who hit Kate would be a perfect way for me to rid myself of my frustrations. I turned off my phone and peered across the table. “Looks like Vinnie’s right.”

“Well, hell.” He chuckled a dry laugh. “That didn’t take long. You a computer hacker in a former life?”

“All I needed was a name.”

“You can just go to someone’s Facebook and look at everything? Just like that?”

“More or less.”

His wiry brows pinched together. “That’s dumber’n fuck.”

I laughed. “Why?”

“Be like taking the family photo album to the clubhouse and just leaving it there for everyone to peruse through. That stuff’s personal, and it ought to stay that way. Isn’t anyone’s business what I’m doing or who I’m screwing. Putting everything out there for the world to see doesn’t do anything but open a man up to criticism. Keeps denial from being a plausible option, too.” He motioned to my phone. “Just like that dumbass. If his pictures weren’t all out there for the world to see, he could deny it. Kind of tough now, ain’t it?”

“Sure is.”

“So, what are we going to do?” he asked.

“We aren’t going to do anything. I’m going to pay him a visit.” I glanced at my watch. It was six a.m. I looked at Herb with apologetic eyes. “I’ll probably head that direction right now.”

“Bullshit,” he snapped back. “Vinnie and I are going too. You go rolling up to his place on that raggedy-assed Harley all covered in tattoos, and the jig’ll be up for sure. We all go up there in Vin’s Cadillac, and he’s gonna wonder what the hell we want. I guarantee you he’ll open the door for two old men and an idiot biker.”

I hated to admit it, but Herb was right. I was in top physical condition and covered in tattoos. The layman’s perception of me would be that I was a thug. If I knocked on his door alone, he wouldn’t answer.

“Fine,” I said. “Call Vinnie and see if he’s up and ready. We should do it soon. Maybe try to get there by six thirty, before he leaves for the day.”

“He’s up at four thirty, just like me.”

“Well, get him over here,” I said. “And we’ll get this show on the road.”

* * *

After stopping at the Dunkin’ Donuts for a cup of coffee and a pastry, we made it to Josh’s house just before seven a.m.

I followed Vinnie and Herb to the front door. The home was a modest ranch with a one-car garage in a quiet neighborhood positioned in the center of town. Despite the faded exterior paint and damaged roof tiles, the yard was well-kept and landscaped beautifully. The garage door was closed, and no cars were parked in the drive, leading me to believe there were no Friday night visitors still occupying the home.

Herb was dressed in a pair of khaki-colored old-man pants and a powder-blue, short-sleeved button-down shirt that was tucked tightly into his waistline. He looked like every other eighty-year-old man in Southwest Florida.

Vinnie wasn’t quite what I expected. In his mid-sixties, by my guess, he was five-foot-six or so, built like a semi-retired weightlifter, and had a thick New Jersey accent. He wore his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, and he walked with a noticeable “don’t fuck with me” gait.

He was dressed like he was headed to a nightclub. Two gold chains dangled from his thick neck, one of which had a large, diamond-encrusted crucifix. A gold Rolex watch was on his left wrist, and his right was adorned with a gold chain. Several of his fingers, including his right pinkie, were fitted with gaudy gold rings. Wearing a pair of olive-colored slacks, black dress shoes, and an untucked black silk shirt, he looked the part of a stereotypical East Coast mobster.

When we reached the front door, Vinnie nudged his way in front of Herb. He glanced at me. “Pay attention.”

“To what?” I asked.

We’d agreed the two old men would lure Josh to answer the door, with me hidden out of view. Once the door was open, I’d take it from there, pushing him back inside the home to take care of business. After I made myself clear, we’d depart with a stern warning of retaliation if he spoke to police regarding the incident or to Kate about anything.

Vinnie slammed the backside of his thick fist against the door like he was a detective serving a warrant.

“What’s with the cop knock?” I whispered.

He glanced over his shoulder and shot me a glare.

He knocked again. This time it was much harder than the first.