“Drink.”
One hand disappeared beneath the table.
The girl flinched.
Fresh tears formed.
The Biker felt his vision sharpen.
The girl reached for the mug.
Her left sleeve pulled back.
Purple bruising circled her wrist.
Finger-shaped.
The Biker looked at the Waitress.
She was already walking away.
He needed a plan.
He shifted his mug closer to the table edge.
Then signed low beside it.
WHERE?
The girl saw.
Her eyes moved toward the man.
He was staring through the rain-darkened window.
She answered.
YARD.
Then:
HE TOOK ME FROM YARD.
The Biker’s heartbeat slowed rather than accelerated.
That happened when things became serious.
In old days, men around him had called it calm.
It was not calm.
It was training taking over because panic had become unaffordable.
The Man in the Trench Coat suddenly turned.
“What are you doing?”
The girl froze.
He leaned closer.
“What are your hands doing?”
She pulled them beneath the table.
Nothing.
The word formed silently on her lips.
The man’s face came nearer.
“You remember what I told you.”
The girl nodded.
The Biker studied the man’s coat.
Right side sagged slightly differently from the left.
Could be wallet.
Could be phone.
Could be weapon.
The man checked his watch.
Then looked toward the storm.
His impatience was increasing.
The Biker needed more.
He signed:
DANGER?
The girl’s fingers emerged.
One sign.
Not full ASL.
Fingerspelling.
G.
U.
N.
The Biker felt ice slide through his chest. Markdown đã dán (1)
Now he knew enough.
Not everything.
Enough.
The Man in the Trench Coat threw a ten-dollar bill onto the table.
“We’re leaving.”
The girl’s face changed instantly.
The Biker saw panic overwhelm every instruction to stay calm.
The man stood.
Grabbed the back of her pink hoodie.
Pulled her out of the booth.
The girl looked toward the Biker.
The Biker signed once.
Fast.
BEHIND ME.
She stared.
He signed again.
WHEN I MOVE.
The Man in the Trench Coat saw the second movement.
His eyes narrowed.
“What was that?”
The Biker lifted his coffee.
“What was what?”
First words between them.
The man’s expression sharpened.
“You know her?”
The Biker shrugged.
“No.”