The man studied him.
The Waitress stood behind the counter watching now.
She had finally sensed the tension.
The sleeping Trucker was no longer sleeping.
His eyes were open beneath the jacket.
The Biker noticed that too.
Good.
The Man in the Trench Coat pulled the girl toward the aisle.
The Biker stayed seated.
The man seemed relieved.
His smirk returned.
He passed the second booth.
Then the first.
Almost at the Biker.
The girl stumbled.
The man shoved her forward.
“Move.”
The Biker placed both palms on the table.
And stood.
At six-foot-four, he changed the geometry of the diner.
The aisle suddenly had no exit.
The Man in the Trench Coat stopped.
The girl stared upward.
The Biker stepped into the aisle.
Not toward them.
Just enough to block the path.
The man’s hand remained on the girl.
“Excuse me.”
The Biker said nothing.
“I said excuse me.”
“Let her go.”
The man laughed.
It sounded real for half a second.
Then vanished.
“You should sit down.”
The Biker looked at the girl.
Then at the hand gripping her hoodie.
“Let her go.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“No.”
The man’s eyes narrowed.
The Biker signed one word toward the child without looking directly at her.
NOW.
The girl dropped.
Not backward.
Down.
Exactly as he hoped.
The man’s grip slipped from her hood.
She crawled toward the Biker.
The Biker shifted one leg, shielding her.
The man moved fast.
His right hand went inside the trench coat.
The Biker was faster.
His left palm slammed against the man’s wrist before the hand cleared the fabric.
The Biker drove the arm downward.
A metallic object struck against the inside of the coat.
The man cursed.
He shoved forward.
The Biker turned his shoulder, absorbed the impact, and pushed him sideways.
The Man in the Trench Coat crashed into the edge of a red vinyl booth.
The table shook.
Coffee spilled.
The girl scrambled behind the Biker.
The Waitress screamed.
“Gun!”
The Trucker rose.
Much larger than he had appeared while sleeping.
The Man in the Trench Coat tried again.
His hand disappeared beneath his coat.
The Biker slapped the wrist aside and trapped the forearm against the man’s chest.
The gun fell.
It hit linoleum.
Black pistol.
The Trucker kicked it beneath the counter.
The man’s face changed.
No smile now.
He drove his elbow toward the Biker’s ribs.
Connected.
Pain exploded through the older man’s side.
The Biker grunted.
The kidnapper twisted.
For a moment he nearly escaped.
Then the Biker drove one heavy shove into his chest.
The man crashed backward into the booth again.