“I’m sorry, sir.”
At the red booth near the window, a huge biker stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth.
The diner went quieter as he slowly set it down.
His leather vest creaked when he stood.
He was massive, gray-bearded, tattooed, his boots heavy against the checkered floor. The officer noticed him coming and straightened, trying not to look shaken.
The biker walked straight past the broken glass and stopped inches from his face.