The auburn-haired Terry had held her tongue, but now she asked, "Can't I go with you, Mickey?"
"No! You heard my orders… God damn it!" He turned on her threateningly. "No… split!" He stalked away, angrily.
"What's happening, man?" Peeper Martin asked.
Buck Sloan filled him in.
Martin was instantly angry, but he said nothing, asking only, "… And… he told you… to ride Terry on your hog?"
"That's how he laid it on me!" Buck told him.
"So let's split!"
The three men mounted their motorcycles. The food was in the saddlebags of Buck's hog, and Terry was seated behind him. They swept out of the parking lot with a roar of engines. Peeper Martin brought up the rear.
Until two minutes before, he had been, informally, the number two man; actually, it was he who should have led the group back to the camp… he who should have had the mama, Terry, up behind him on his hog. Now… he was deposed… demoted by one of Mickey's whims. Man! It's going to come to a head, now! It's got to be him… or me!
A mile along the road, Martin dropped back, reducing his speed, constantly, until the others were some distance ahead of him, then, he pulled to a stop at the side of the road, dismounted and squatted beside his motorcycle. Soon, the other two men came roaring back. He pretended to tinker with the engine.
Buck turned a wide U in the road and pulled alongside. "What's wrong?" he yelled.
"Carb's out of adjustment! You guy's fog on back… and I'll be there in a few minutes!" he lied.
"Need any help…?"
"No! I can make it… alone!"
"Right on!" Buck agreed, let in his clutch and blazed on down the road, Bill Wunder following.
Martin watched their departure. Now… God damn it… I'm going to find out what that sonof-a-bitch is up to! He remounted his motorcycle and headed back toward the village.
It hadn't taken Mickey but a few moments to find her. She was poring over a table full of curios in one of the smaller shops. He stood in the doorway watching her for several seconds, before walking up beside her, boldly, and saying, "Hello… Miss… I'd like to return something you laid on me…"
Vivian looked up, startled, into the black eyes and equally black beard of the leader of the motorcycle gang.
"Oh! Heavens! You scared me!" she gasped, then recovering her poise, she added, "It's Mrs.! Mrs. Harry Williams… but my friends call me Vivian…"
"I'm Mickey… Mickey Blackum…" he told her.
"You said something about returning something to me…? I don't think I've lost anything… Mr. Blackum!" she smiled.
"It isn't something you lost… I said it was something you laid on me!" he corrected.
"Oh? What in the world is that?"
"You smiled at me… a while ago… and not many people… that is… people like you… ever do that!" he explained. "So… I'd like to give one back to you…"
He smiled down at her, his white, even teeth gleaming through the blackness of his beard.
"Thank you… Mr. Blackum!" Vivian thrilled. "You have a very nice smile!" Her grey eyes regarded him, warmly, the trace of interest sparking in them.
"Call me Mickey!" he said.
"Okay… Mickey it is!"
"And you're Vivian!" He looked down into her face, serious now. "You now have two choices…" he went on. "You can tell the dirty, no-good hog rider to get lost… split the scene… or secondly, you can accept my invitation for a drink!"
"You've got the most original line… I've ever heard!" Vivian commented. "… And, you don't sound like I thought you'd sound!"
"What do you mean…?"
"Well… I thought you'd use all kinds of slang… and rough talk… you know… like a tough guy…"
"I talk that way, too! I'm a college drop-out… I'd be an engineer, now… if I'd stayed in school!" he explained.
"… And you want… to buy me a drink?"
"Yes… and the reason, of course… is I'd like to know you better… much better!" His smile bordered on lewdness.
Her heart jumped with excitement. She had never dreamed that she would actually meet this man. Yes! She had smiled at him, on purpose… hoping… but this was too much for her. He was really inviting her for a drink… with a sort of promise for further exciting things… Did she dare?
Yes! She did dare! The exhilaration of Mickey's open admiration for her… in contrast to Stan Brewster's earlier rejection, did something for her womanly ego.
"All right!" she agreed. "I'll have one drink with you… if you really want me to!"
His eyes swept over her trim figure, from head to toe, liking what he saw and wondering: Does she dig what I want from her… or is she just a stupid, little cock-teaser? "That's what I want!" he told her. "And, I usually get what I want!"
She was startled for a moment. "Oh I see… now you're the tough guy…"
"Yeah… that's it! Let's go!"
For an instant, she was frightened. He was so mercurial. One moment he was polite; the next he was a roughneck, and she doubted she should even go with him, now. There was no telling what might happen… what could develop. Harry's warning about not getting involved with this man came churning back into her mind. God! What if I get into something over my head… something I couldn't handle… like if he got violent… or something like that? She hesitated, shrinking away from him.
Firmly, he took hold of her arm, his smile charming, his voice well modulated. "Come on!" he grinned down at her, boyishly. "Let's go have that drink… and I'll let you go back to your square, establishment-type husband, who no doubt waves the flag, believes in the sanctity of God, mother… and Apple Pie…!"
She giggled, nervously, and allowed herself to be led from the curio store to a bar just three doors down. Their entrance drew stares and a rustle of comments among the tourist patrons. Mickey selected an empty booth near the rear of the bar and gave the order to a waitress, who appeared as soon as they were seated. He chose bourbon and water. Her drink was a martini.
"I probably shouldn't be doing this…" she offered, feeling somewhat guilty that she was doing it against Harry's orders.
"Your husband…?"
"Yes… you described him to a Tee… a while ago!"
"And I suppose he also dislikes motorcycle bums… like me?"
"He's terribly prejudiced!"
"… But you… what do you think…?" he asked, serious, again.
"Well… I think you're terribly exciting!"
Their drinks arrived. Mickey paid for them, lifted his drink, toasted her, silently, and took a healthy swallow. Vivian sipped her martini and regarded his profile. He is sort of handsome… a kind of wild, animal-like man… and there's a certain sexy thing about him… that almost makes me want to… to make some kind of play for him…!
… But, she knew she wouldn't. It'd be breaking her promise… the agreement she had with Harry… and he'd told her, already, what he thought about an involvement with people like Mickey Blackum.
"Is that all…?" he asked, leering at her.
"Well… I'd also have to say that there's a certain wildness… about you… maybe untamed is a better word!" she said, thinking unconsciously about… how he would be in bed… the sexy things… he could do to a woman… to her! She raised her martini to her lips, again, taking a long drink of the gin, this time; then she attempted to change the subject. "Why don't you tell me… what it's like to live your kind of life…?"
"What do you want to know…?"
"Well… do you work? Are you married? Where do you live… when you're not out riding around on your motorcycles?"
"Slow down!" he grunted. "Let's take them one at a time!"
Mickey launched into a somewhat detailed answer, telling her he worked only when he needed money… no, he wasn't married, and motorcycles were a cheap form of transportation.
As he launched into other reasons for riding motorcycles, she stopped him to ask, "Isn't there a girl with you? Does she stay with you… all the time? What does she do…?"