For a while neither of us spoke. I ate my sandwich while Kit picked at his, nibbling off a gram at a time then washing each down with Diet Coke.

"Do you want another?" he asked, pushing back his chair and wiggling his empty can.

"No thanks."

When he returned I plunged in again.

"How much did you drink last night?"

"Too much." He scratched his head roughly with both hands and the hair went from Carrey to Alfalfa. "But it was just beer, Aunt T. Nothin' hard. And I'm legal here."

"Just beer?"

He lowered his hands and looked at me, making sure he understood my meaning.

"If there's one thing you can count on with this boy, it's a negatory on pharmaceuticals. This body ain't much, but I'm keeping it a drug-free zone."

"I'm very glad to hear that." I was. "What about the Preacher and his flock?"

"They Live and let."

"It doesn't always work that way. Kit." Go ahead. Ask.

"Are these guys bikers?"

"Sure. That's why it's Disneyland for me. They al ride Harleys."

Try again.

"Are they affiliated with a club?"

"Aunt T, I don't ask them a lot of questions. If you mean do they wear colors, the answer is no. Do they hang with guy's that do? Yeah, probably. But I'm not going to sel my boat and strike for the Hel s Angels, if that's what worries you.

"Kit. Outlaw bikers don't draw lines between gawkers and those wanting charter memberships. If they perceive you as even the most minor of threats, or even a slight inconvenience, they'l chew you up and spit you into tomorrow. I don't want that to happen to you.

"Do I look like an idiot?"

"You look like a nineteen-year-old kid from Houston with a fascination for Harleys and a romanticized image of the Wild Ones."

"What?"

"The Stanley Kramer movie?" A blank look. "Marion Brando?"

"I've heard of Brando."

"Never mind."

"I'm just feeling free. Having some fun."

"So is a dog with its head out the car window. Until it leaves its brains on a utility pole."

"They're not that bad."

"Bikers are moral cretins, and they not only are that bad, they're worse.

"Some of what they say makes sense. Anyway, I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't. I've learned more about these guys in the past two weeks than I ever wanted to know, and none of it is good. Sure, they give toys to tots once a year, but bikers are hoodlums with a contempt for the law and a predisposition for violence."

"What do they do that's so bad?"

"They're reckless and treacherous and they prey on the weak."

"What do they do? Abort babies with coat hangers? Rape nuns? Machine-gun seniors in fast-food joints?"

"For one thing, they sel drugs."

"So does Eli Lil y."