I expect something dramatic now, something loud and destructive that will tear through my small diner with the force of a whirlwind and leave us to pick up the pieces when echoes from the last of the motorbikes have faded into the distance. I’ve seen that all too often before—after a while, the paint doesn’t cover as much as it should.
But something passes between these men, something I don’t quite catch, even though I’m watching Coby openly. I’m fascinated by his hard eyes and can’t look away. Part of me doesn’t wantto, and I know that’s horrible, he’s nothing but trash like the others, another McBane in the making and they’re just trouble, the whole lot of them.