Rebecca was in the back loading the dishwasher when she heard the distinct screeching protest of failing brakes. She walked over to the greasy drive-thru window and peered out into the gloomy parking lot.
A rusted, dented Ford F-150 flatbed had just pulled up, parking illegally close to the diner’s entrance, directly parallel to Rooster’s gleaming Harley-Davidson. The truck’s headlights were killed immediately, plunging that section of the lot into deep shadows.
Two men jumped out of the truck cab. Even from a distance, Rebecca could read their frantic, twitchy body language.
They were rail thin, wearing baggy clothes, their heads darting left and right with the erratic paranoia of severe meth addicts. One of them, a guy with a shaved head and a neck tattoo, went straight to the back of the flatbed and pulled out a heavy wooden plank.
The other man pulled a massive pair of bright yellow bolt cutters from his jacket.
Rebecca’s heart slammed against her ribs.
They’re going for the bike.
She knew what kind of men stole motorcycles. They were desperate, dangerous, and usually armed. But stealing a customized Harley that belonged to a fully patched Hells Angel, that wasn’t just grand theft.
That was a profound, catastrophic death wish.
If Rooster walked out and caught them, the violence that would erupt in Sam’s Diner parking lot would make the local news for weeks. The diner would be a crime scene. She would lose her job, the only thing keeping her and Leo off the literal streets.
She turned to rush into the dining area to warn Rooster, but when she burst through the swinging kitchen doors, the corner booth was empty.
The restroom door down the hall was shut.
Rebecca looked back out the window.
The thieves were already moving. The shaved-head guy had wedged the plank against the truck bed, while the other man was creeping toward the Harley, examining the heavy lock chained through the front wheel.
They had less than sixty seconds before they loaded the bike and vanished.
Rational thought completely abandoned Rebecca.
It wasn’t just about the diner, or her job, or even the terrifying biker currently in the bathroom. It was a lifetime of watching things get taken from her.
Her mother taking the last of their money.
Landlords taking her security.
Life taking her brother’s health.
She was so incredibly, violently tired of watching people take what didn’t belong to them while the victims just stood by and suffered.
Without thinking, Rebecca grabbed the heavy, solid iron tire iron that Sam kept propped next to the back door for breaking up ice in the winter. Her fingers gripped the cold metal so tightly her knuckles turned white.
She pushed open the heavy glass doors of the diner and sprinted out into the chill night air.
“Hey!” Rebecca screamed, her voice cracking like a whip across the empty lot. “Get the hell away from that bike.”
The two thieves jumped, dropping the bolt cutters with a loud metallic clatter. They spun around, expecting to see a massive biker.