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Show Jeffries, Section 3, Page 54 he would write, you never find their bodies in the woods. A motorcycle gang. He'd seen their bikes outside the fish houses and the coral shops, up and down the keys. "Harleys and Indians, and the flathead, with the sidecar, and Ducatis and Motoguzzis," Chester White explained, "mostly vintage bikes." Dorian Clayton had caught up with them at The Sunset Cove Team Room, eating key lime pie. "It's a visit from the Inlaws," the one they were calling Grandpa Cunningham said. "The consensus was to drop down this way and look into this weather." "That's interesting -I'm doing a piece, myself, on the storm, for a national, uh, magazine. Those. . .costumes, of yours, would you mind if I got a few pictures?" The last few days he had been energetically taking pictures, catching the shift of color down the spectrum to that fearsome off-yellow. Now he was shooting in black and white. "Another order of pie, all around?" Dorian Clayton offered. "So tell the boy about us, Chester," one of the women said. "Some bikes," he began, nodding out the window. "Some motorcycle gang. But we rumble. We have our fights. |