Twenty.
Twenty.
Twenty.
Maybe another.
She could not imagine having that much money.
The biker took his coffee.
Then he stopped beside a display of candy bars.
He picked up one.
Looked at it.
Put it back.
Picked up another.
Martin laughed.
The biker seemed offended.
Daisy almost smiled.
Then the front door opened again.
Three men entered.
Even from outside, Daisy immediately knew something was wrong.
Adults changed when they drank.
Their voices became bigger.
Their balance became worse.
Their faces looked looser.
Daisy had learned to recognize it.
The three men were maybe thirty.
Maybe forty.
She was bad at adult ages.
One wore a green hunting jacket.
One wore a black hoodie.
The third wore a work coat with the name of a local construction company across the back.
They were loud.
Martin stopped smiling.
The old biker looked at them once.
Then turned away.
Daisy hugged Buttons tighter.
The man in the green jacket grabbed a six-pack from the cooler.
Martin said something.
The man laughed.
Martin pointed toward the clock.
Perhaps alcohol sales had stopped.
Perhaps they had already had too much.
Daisy could not hear.
Then the man slapped his hand against the counter.
The sound carried through the glass.
Daisy flinched.
The biker turned around.
He said something quietly.
Green Jacket looked toward him.
The other two laughed.
The biker did not.
Daisy knew that expression.
He looked like her grandfather used to look whenever someone was rude to a waitress.
Her grandfather had died when Daisy was five.
He had a white beard too.
Not as big.
But close.
For one strange second, Daisy imagined the biker wearing a red coat.
Her mind added round glasses.
Red hat.
She almost smiled again.
Inside, the argument ended.
Or seemed to.
The three men walked out.
The biker waited another minute.
Then came outside too.
Snow had begun falling harder.
The old man put his coffee inside one saddlebag.
He climbed onto the motorcycle.
Daisy thought he was leaving.
She wished he would.
Not because she disliked him.
Because the three men had not left.
Their pickup sat near the edge of the parking lot.
The engine was running.
Green Jacket stood beside the passenger door.
He saw the biker.
Said something.
The biker ignored him.
Then the man started walking back.
Daisy’s stomach tightened.
The other two followed.
The biker noticed.
He climbed off the motorcycle.
Green Jacket shoved him.
Not hard enough to knock him down.
Enough to make the message clear.
The biker looked at him.
Daisy could not hear the words.
The wind carried pieces.
“Go home.”
“Leave it.”
“Not worth…”
Green Jacket shoved him again.
The biker stepped backward.
He still did not swing.
That seemed important.
Daisy had seen adults fight.
Usually the first shove became another.
Then fists.
Then screaming.
This man kept his hands open.
One of the others grabbed his vest.
The biker pulled free.