Camel Club 1 - The Camel Club by David Baldacci

Author:David Baldacci
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fiction & related items, Action & Adventure, Fiction - Espionage, Fiction, Suspense, Espionage, Thrillers, Crime & Thriller, General, Intrigue, Thriller, Adventure
ISBN: 9780330441230
Publisher: London : Pan Books, 2006, c2005.
Published: 2007-09-15T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

38

STONE AND MILTON HAD TO look twice as the motorcycle pulled to a stop in front of them at Union Station. Reuben lifted up his goggles and rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

“Reuben, what happened to your pickup truck?” an amazed Stone asked.

“Found this baby in a junkyard, if you can believe it. Spent the last year fixing it up.”

“What is it?” Stone asked.

“It’s a 1928 Indian Chief motorcycle with sidecar,” Milton answered promptly.

“How the hell did you know that?” Reuben said, glaring at him.

“I read about it in an article six and a half years ago in Antique Motorcycle Magazine while I was waiting at the dentist. I was there for a crown prep.”

“A crown prep?” Reuben asked.

“Yes, it involves isolation with rubber sheeting and drilling to shave off the enamel, which leaves a post of dentin approximately two millimeters in diameter, but without exposing the nerve. The permanent crown is made of porcelain. It’s quite nice. See?” He opened his mouth and showed them.

Reuben said impatiently, “Thank you for the bloody dental lesson, Dr. Farb.”

“Oh, there’s hardly any blood, Reuben,” replied Milton, who’d entirely missed the sarcasm in his friend’s remark.

Reuben sighed and then proudly ran his gaze over the pin-striped candy-apple-red motorcycle with attached sidecar. “A thousand cc power plant, rebuilt transmission and magneto. The sidecar’s not authentic; it’s a fiberglass replica, but it doesn’t rust and it’s a lot lighter. I got most of the parts off eBay, and a friend of mine had some extra cowhide leather that I used to reupholster the sidecar seat. And it’s a left-mount sidecar, which is pretty damn rare. One in this condition would sell for north of twenty grand, and I’ve only got about a tenth of that in it. Not that I’m thinking about selling, mind you, but you never know.”

He held out a black crash helmet to Stone that had goggles attached.

“Where exactly do I ride?” Stone asked.

“In the sidecar, of course. What the hell do you think it’s for? A damn flowerpot?”

Stone put on the helmet and adjusted the goggles, then opened the small door, stepped into the sidecar and sat down. It was a very cramped space for the tall man.

Reuben said, “Okay, let’s go.”

“Wait a minute!” Stone exclaimed. “Is there anything I should know about the motorcycle?”

“Yeah, if the wheel on the sidecar goes off the ground, you can start praying.”

Reuben hit the kick-starter and the motor caught. He revved it a couple of times, waved good-bye to Milton, and they sailed away from Union Station.

Reuben steered the motorcycle west on Constitution Avenue. They cut past the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, where war veteran Reuben gave a respectful salute to the wall, looped around the Lincoln Memorial and passed over Memorial Bridge, which carried them into Virginia. From there they headed south on the George Washington Parkway, which was referred to locally as the GW Parkway. As they raced along, they drew curious stares from people in vehicles they passed.

Stone found that if he angled his legs just so, he could nearly stretch them fully out.

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