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Suki stared out the window of the Dog's Breath Saloon not sure what it was about the bike that attracted her. Maybe it was the chrome, or maybe the studded seat, but it looked too much like a day spent doing nothing, wandering the roads, drinking a little, soaking up more sunshine than someone ought to be exposed to in a lifetime, and watching puffy clouds mirrored in her visor. There was too much pressure in her head and the thought of straddling that thin strip of stuffed vinyl with those two cylinders purring beneath was enough to make her consider blowing off the stuffiness that had permeated her life and make one desperate attempt to reclaim her wildness.

The whole idea was so out of character for her. Spending her time defending the dregs of the earth in front of paid-off judges in a small southwestern town meant always being on guard because if the client didn't get you, the system would. Out of necessity she adopted a facade of properness. But on this day, properness was on a collision course with its rival.

Her proper side was there to meet a client who was trying to put her life back together while walking the thin line between legal and illegal. Suki was her savior when it came to defining that line but at the same time she held out little hope for the girl to turn things around.

Suki surveyed the patrons. In her eyes the guys were the usual mix of just divorced, just separated, or bikers, and she could tell by looking at the women that the whiskey they slogged down was probably competing richly with their perfume. Suki had dressed the part so she wouldn't stand out, but somehow she knew everybody saw through. A guy strolled over, pulled up a chair beside her and glared through road-map eyes. He qualified as the anti-thesis for Mr. Charm right down to the dragon tattoo, chained up wallet, and beard flowing over his chest.

"You wanna ride with me sweet thing?"

"I'm waiting for someone who's just a little bit bigger than you," she said disdainfully.

He chuckled knowingly, and smiled. "There's a bike out there that's made for you, and before tonight I bet you'll be on it."

He popped the toothpick to the other corner of his mouth, stood up and went to the bar. Yeah, right, she thought, what a jerk.

An hour passed, she had a vodka and a pickled egg. Still no client. She should have known. The characters in the place were morphing into barnyard animals and the sun was at that late afternoon slant that made everything look soft and wispy. She went outside but when

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