The customer’s wife, a portly woman named Clara, had talked with Savanna awhile before wandering off toward the video games. Now she was blasting asteroids and apparently enjoying the hell out of it. Savanna, meanwhile, had stolen away to the booth that was farthest from everything.
It was partly because of the bikers. They’d congregated around the magazine rack with several cases of beer (without communications to the outside, the clerk had been reluctant to hassle them), and were leafing through the biker mags and swimsuit catalogs, having themselves a little hurricane party. They were downing the beer at an ungodly clip and, much worse, were beginning to show more than a little interest in Savanna. One of them noticed her looking their way now, and waggled his tongue at her. Her arms t
