Page 9 of Nuts

He squinted. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Saw a scoot in San Diego with ‘em on it. Thought it’d make mine look a little retro.”

“Have you got apes on it?” I asked.

He nodded. “Twenty-four inchers.”

“Whitewalls?”

“Yep.”

“21-incher up front?”

“Yep.”

“Fishtails?”

“Not yet, but that’s next.” He leaned away from the counter and gave me a look. “You know your shit, don’t you?”

“It’s easy to know what you love.” I smiled. “The more they’re modified, the more I like them.”

He nodded. “Fishtails look good on a Heritage, that’s for sure.”

“We have the 39” Samson pipes on sale for $1,050, and the 42” for $1,200. Both are in stock. They’re true duals, and they sound badass.”

“In stock?” He cocked an eyebrow. “No shit?”

I pushed my hands into my back pockets and cocked my head slightly. “No shit.”

He inhaled a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out. “I’d hate to spend that much right now.”

I shrugged. “Up to you. Sale lasts until the end of the day on Sunday.”

He glanced at the many random pieces of custom chrome we had on display behind the counter, and then began to stroke his beard. It was obvious his mind wasn’t made up. At least not yet. He was thinking.

I was paid hourly, but also made a commission on sales if I exceeded my sales goal. I never wanted to be perceived as pushy, but I also needed to make as much money as possible. Hoping he didn’t perceive me as being overbearing, I gave him a little nudge.

“There’s probably six black Heritages for sale outside. I bet there’s at least a few thousand of them on the freeway at any given moment. And, you know what?” I shook my head. “They all look the same. I’m glad I don’t ride one of them. Hell, I’d come out of the bar and probably get on the wrong one. Can’t tell ‘em apart if they’re not modified. Is yours black?”

“Sure is.”

I raised my eyebrows and dropped my gaze to the floor.

He reached for his wallet. “Take American Express?”

I looked up. “Does a shark shit in the ocean?”

He chuckled. “You’re one hell of a sales–what do I call you? Sales girl? Woman? Lady? Person?”

“Call me Joey,” I said.

He handed me his credit card. “Well, Joey. Ring up the 42” ones before I change my mind. I’ll pick ‘em up tomorrow when I get the emblems.”

I rang up the sale, handed him the receipt, and smiled. “With the emblems, apes, whitewalls, and those fishtails, you’ll have the gangster Harley thing going on. For what it’s worth, that’s my favorite look for a Harley. When you get a wild hair, you should take a look at the Shotgun Shock. One shock sets ride height, and the other is used for dampening. You can raise and lower it to whatever height you want with the flip of a switch. The air compressor mounts under the frame, right by the transmission. They’re made in the USA, right here in California.”

“It’s already on the list,” he said.