I made the bikers pay before they ate because I didn’t trust them. Fifteen of them walked into my diner at 9 PM on a Tuesday night, leather vests covered in patches, beards down to their chests, tattoos crawling up their necks. I’d been running Maggie’s Diner for thirty-two years and I knew trouble when I saw it. “Payment upfront,” I told them. “All of you. Before you sit down.” The one in front—biggest of them all, gray hair pulled back in a ponytail—raised his eyebrows. “Ma’am?” “You heard me. I’ve had your type in here before. Eat a hundred dollars worth of food and disappear out the back. Not tonight. You pay first or you leave.”…CONTINUE READING IN BELOW

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