Picking on the Wrong Guy

I leaned over to Bill, trying to make sense of the trucker’s silence. He stood there like a statue, with no tension in his jaw and no anger in his eyes. Instead, he maintained that knowing smile that didn’t belong in a moment like this. Jake kept yapping, louder now, thinking he was winning.

Travis joined in with a cheap engine impression, laughing at his joke about the trucker’s drinking rivaling his truck’s. Right then, I noticed the bikers stepping back slightly, not saying a word. It was not fear or panic, just quiet retreat—the kind of pullback that means everyone but the fools knows what’s coming next.