“Then, oh, well. The cost of love is expensive, Harry. You want to kill someone right now, don’t you? Stifle that feeling. Try your best to feel the love that’s going to come your way with all those soft, muted champagne colors. Oh, I almost forgot. Nikki said Yoko is now into champagne-colored roses and white tulips. I didn’t know they had champagne-colored roses. Did you know that, Harry?”

The stupid look was back on Harry’s face. He was also speechless.

“What I would do if I were you is this…and may I say I’m glad I am not you. I would call some florist and leave a standing order for delivery. That’s what I would do, Harry. Harry, what’s wrong with you? Are you having a fit or something? Shake your head! Drink that damn tea! Ah, that’s good. Your eyes are uncrossing. I never saw you cry before, Harry. I know, I know, you aren’t crying. It’s all the sawdust and Sheetrock dust clogging up your eye pores, or whatever it is that gets clogged up in your eyes.”

Harry looked at Jack and smiled. It was the most evil smile Jack had ever seen in his life.

Jack opted to run like hell, calling over his shoulder, “We can order from a catalog or online.”

Harry stopped in his tracks. “Do you have a catalog?”

“I do, Harry, I do. I swear to God I do! After lunch we can go to the house. Catalogs come by the pound to the house. I have hundreds of them. We can have everything shipped to my house. You feel better now?”

“I do, Jack. I really do. Help me with the bike.”

Thirty minutes later they had the Ducati on the street. Both of them were huffing and puffing.

“This is your property, Harry. Why didn’t you tell those guys to move their trucks so you could get your motorcycle out of there?”

“Are you kidding! They get paid by the hour. You’re free.”

Jack digested that information as he looked at an oil stain on his suit jacket. Good old Harry had a point.

It was still snowing when Jack parked his car two blocks from Squire’s Pub. He was glad he’d changed his shoes for his Nikes. Harry managed to squeeze his cycle into the skinny space close to the passenger-side door of Jack’s car. He was covered with snow. He shook his dark mane of hair and yanked it back into a ponytail. He shook himself like a wet cat and took off on the run. Jack just shook his head at the sound of Harry’s sandals slapping on the wet, snowy concrete.