The patio was three-quarters occupied, a cloud of tobacco and marijuana smoke hanging in the air. Decker paused a moment before climbing the steps up to the eating area, took a quick head count. Around thirty fat-assed chopper riders outside, must be another dozen or so inside. All of them held that ex-con look in their eye. They cradled their beers as they nursed them, looked over their shoulders as they talked. Some of them seemed more wary than confrontive, but a few looked defiant, aching for a brawl.

To hell with that noise. He wasn’t out to prove himself.

Ten scrawny women decorated as many laps, another half-dozen were fetching beer for their men. No pizza on any of the tables. Two busty waitresses, wearing black sleeveless tops and shorts, were clearing away empty bottles and mugs. Decker thought he might be best off approaching the waitresses first. He looked at Marge, then the two of them climbed the stairs. Immediately, the entrance was blocked by a three-hundred-pound gorilla. Most of him was fat, but even so, that was a hell of a lot of bulk to contend with. His face was covered by a rabbi-sized beard, his body stank of sweat and alcohol. He wore a denim vest, and jeans ripped at the knees.

“You need some help, Officer?” he asked. He was smiling, teeth as soft and brown as rotten apples.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Decker said.

“Well, you just tell me how I can be of service.”

Decker stiffened as he spoke. Asshole’s breath was vile.

Decker said, “You can start by getting out of my way.”

“Why don’tchu walk ’round me?” the biker challenged.

Decker said, “Look, buddy, I’m not here to give you shit, but if you want shit, I can give you a truckload. So why don’t you get out of my way and let me do my business?”

“You ain’t here to sling no shit, why the hell are you here, big city-boy cop?”

Calmly, Decker said, “Move your ass, buddy.”

The biker’s smile slowly faded. His eyes hardened, and the fat-lipped mouth was about to speak when it was interrupted by a deep male voice.

“Pig, just what the hell you think you’re doin’? Get the fuck away from them.”

The man who spoke was big, around two-fifty, and all muscle. He seemed to be about thirty-five, 6'1", had brown eyes, a Fu Manchu mustache, and buck teeth that were accentuated by a receding chin. He wore a red cook’s apron over his bare chest and leather chaps, his hair pulled back in a ponytail. At first Decker thought the pig epithet had referred to him, but a moment later the muscle man punched the fat man in the shoulder.