Page 53 of Shakedown in Savannah

June ran her fingertips over the chrome handlebars. “This bike is such a beauty. Did I ever tell you about mine?”

The woman had. In fact, she’d enthusiastically shared several stories about being a biker chick, but Dernice didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d heard all about it. What harm was there in letting her relive a few moments of her glory days?

“No. I don’t believe you did.”

“Well, there was this one season. I lived in Pennsylvania at the time, near the Pocono Mountains. My boyfriend, Ernest, had a 1972 Harley-Davidson Shovelhead.” June made googly eyes. “He wasn’t much to look at, but that motorcycle of his was a dream.”

“You dated him because he had a sweet ride?”

“Well, for a little while. Until I met Charles, who eventually became my first husband.” June flapped her hands. “Sorry. I’m getting sidetracked. Ernest and I rode all over that summer. Him on his Shovelhead and me on my girlie bike. It was similar to the Softail deluxe models on the market now.”

Her expression grew faraway. “It was such a special summer.”

“I bet you were a real gearhead,” Dernice said.

“I most certainly was.” June straightened her back. “Not to mention I was one smokin’ hot mama. These days, I wouldn’t trust myself. Besides, I sold my bike. None of my friends would ride with me. They were too afraid of breaking a bone or cracking a rib.”

“It’s a legitimate concern at your age,” Dernice said.

“If you want a piece of advice, keep on riding for as long as you can.” June patted the seat and reluctantly took a step back. “She sure is a beaut.”

“Would you like to take her for another spin?”

“Now?”

Dernice nodded.

“I…I would love to. Unfortunately, I’m the only one working. I don’t have anyone to cover for me.”

“Bummer.” Dernice tapped her foot. “Seeing how you can’t take another ride, feel free to settle in for old times’ sake.”

“I don’t want to smudge her up.”

She waved dismissively. “It’s fine. Go ahead.”

June swung her leg over the side and settled in, a look of utter joy spreading across her face. She reached for the handlebars and closed her eyes. “It feels good. What a time we had back then.”

She sat for several long moments before reluctantly climbing off. “Thank you, Dernice. You made my day. Maybe you can come back another time and we can take her out for a spin,” she hinted.

“I’m sure I can arrange something.” Dernice casually glanced at the property across the street, the one surrounded by police tape. “What’s going on over there?”

“I call it the Morton Street monster,” June said. “The property has been nothing but trouble for years.”

“Targeted by vandals?”

“I’m sure it’s been vandalized. Actually, the place is probably cursed, going all the way back to when a man by the name of Garlucci bought it.”

Dernice perked up. “What happened?”

“Well, first of all, he had questionable ties and was from New York. You know what they have up in New York, don’t you?”

“Expensive real estate?” Dernice joked.

“No. Mobsters,” June said in a loud whisper. “I heard this Garlucci fellow had ties to the mob. Not long after he bought it…kaboom!”

“It blew up?”

“I think it was firebombed. Thank God no one was inside when it happened. It was some time ago. I heard the Garlucci guy died, probably murdered by his own people.”

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