Polinski said, “He had him bandaged up and ready to go way before the medics came tooling by. It was something to watch him. We were all in awe.”

“What happened to Benny?” Decker asked.

Sanchez said, “He died, stupid fuck. Massive brain injuries.”

“Not that he had much brains to start with.”

Decker said, “He wasn’t wearing a helmet?”

Sanchez sneered. “We was playin’ around in the desert. You don’t expect to get wrecked playin’ around in the desert. Besides, helmets are for pussies.”

Too bad Benny wasn’t around to offer a rebuttal. Decker said, “How did Dr. Sparks come to join your group and ride with you?”

“I asked him,” Sanchez said. “I fell in love with the old guy, know what I’m sayin’. He comes into the lot with his sons, I thought, Shit, another stupid fuck. Turns out the guy wasn’t a stupid fuck. Knew what he wanted, knew what he was talkin’ about. I asked him…I said…hey, Granddaddy, want to ride with us on Saturday. I kinda threw it out like a joke. But he said, Yeah, I’ll come ride with you on Saturday. And you know what? He came and rode with us.”

“He was good.” Polinski ran his tongue over equine frontal incisors. “Could have used a little polishing when taking the curves. But for an old guy, he had great balance.”

Decker said, “Either of you have any theories about his murder?”

“Yeah,” Sanchez said. “It was some asshole.”

Polinski said, “It’s absurd. Someone murdering Granddaddy. For what reason? Grease Pit’s right. It had to be some hyped asshole.”

Sanchez hit Polinski’s shoulder, pointed to someone in the crowd. “Who’s that guy, Sidewinder? Don’t he look familler?”

Decker looked to where Sanchez was pointing. Muscular build, curly black hair, blue eyes. “That’s Paul Sparks. One of the doctor’s sons.”

Sanchez pulled up his pants. “Who’s he talking to?”

Decker regarded Paul’s companion. A ruddy man who appeared to be in his sixties, around six feet with a sizable spread about his middle. Soft features—thick lips and a thick, veiny nose. White hair cut short and blunt. Dressed in a gray double-breasted suit, white shirt, red tie.

From Decker’s viewpoint, the old guy seemed to be lecturing about something important. Because Paul was listening carefully, nodding at frequent intervals, his eyelids calm and steady.

“Don’t he look familler?” Sanchez repeated.

“Yes, he does,” Polinski agreed. “He’s obviously a friend of Granddaddy’s. But I don’t remember him ever riding with us.”

“No, he didn’t ride with us.”

The two bikers continued to stare.

“Didn’t Granddaddy brought him into the store once?” Sanchez said. “When he looked at the Harley Bagger.”

“Granddaddy bought a Bagger?”