"Howdy," I said, "look what the cat drug in. "

They took off their helmets, which look like something a jet pilot would wear and plopped them on the counter. Tiny grinned and started one of those hand-shaking rituals that I can never get right: thumbs, knuckles, elbows and wrists. etc. "Well, Bob," he said as we fumbled through the routine, "you old retro bait, how're they hanging?"

Not sure if this was a rhetorical question, I answered, "just fine and yours?. . . I mean you?"

"Just dandy. Maude and I got an email from Sharon about your new Cab. So we just had to ride up and give it a taste. Ain't that right, gal?"

She smiled at me and said, "I swear this old coyote has the patience of a jack rabbit. We had to drop everything, even though the dead line for my article is next week. "

That Maude is a writer I found interesting. I have known them for about three years but unlike many club members I really don't know much about them. They are very friendly, very casual but tend to breeze in and out quickly. Probably it's all that zooming around on bikes. I do know that they live in the Piedmont Hills, which is a pretty ritzy area and, happily, are among our best customers. Jennifer once told me she thinks Al was an early dot. commer who got out before the crash and now does some sort of venture capital investing. Looks sure can be deceiving.

I pour them a healthy taste of the Cab. Club members always get a little extra. . . Just as I was waiting for their reaction, Jennifer's door opened and Mike hurried out the front door without saying a word. I've seen happier faces on gas chamber prospects.

Borioso emerged from the hallway with a big scowl on his face. He stopped dead in his tracks, the scowl turning into shocked disbelief as he spied Tiny and Maude. He probably thought we were about to be robbed.