Chapter 407 Siobhan

• It had become a standard routine, thought Siobhan, her plump mouth twisting in distaste as she hurried to take orders, keeping one eye on the door. By some unspoken agreement, the other diners generally shuffled out when the bikers walked in.
• Old man Barry Wallace wore the same expression of pained resignation when he saw them. But there was nothing anyone could do, Siobahn reflected, as she pocketed the small tip one of the old diners had left for her. She looked over her shoulder, her washcloth in hand, as the sound of bikes approached.
• Every Friday night, the parking lot was filled with motorcycles. Not shabby ones at that, but chrome glinting under the neon sign, engines rumbling like distant thunder.