They were younger, stronger, and clearly looking for an excuse to vent some anger on someone they deemed weaker than themselves.
They saw an old man with gray hair, deep wrinkles, and a shabby coat.
They saw an easy target.
“I’m just trying to enjoy my coffee in peace,” I said, keeping my voice perfectly level. “The diner is open. You boys go on inside and get yourselves something to eat. I won’t bother you.”
The tall one’s smile faded into a hard sneer.
He stepped closer, invading my personal space.
He placed his heavy hands on my small metal table and leaned down until his face was only inches from mine.
“We aren’t hungry,” he whispered, his breath smelling of stale tobacco and cheap beer. “And I don’t take orders from old men who smell like mothballs.”
As he leaned his weight onto the table, my eyes dropped to his hands.
My breath caught in my throat.
On the ring finger of his right hand, he wore a thick silver band set with a cracked, jagged piece of black obsidian.
It wasn’t a store-bought piece of jewelry.
Sarah had taken a metalworking class in college.
She had spent three months designing and forging that exact ring, setting a stone she had found on our family camping trip into the silver.
She had proudly given it to David on their wedding day.
There was absolutely no way this random biker could have it.
I stared at the fracture in the black stone, my mind racing through terrifying possibilities.
Had David sold it?
Had they robbed him?
Had something horrible happened to my daughter?
I slowly stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the concrete patio.
I wasn’t a tall man, but I squared my shoulders and looked the heavily tattooed leader directly in the eyes.
“Where did you get that ring?” I asked, my voice dropping an octave, carrying an absolute demand that left no room for negotiation.
The tall biker looked momentarily surprised by my shift in tone, but he quickly recovered with a cold laugh.
“A mutual friend,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “David told us we could find an easy mark sitting outside this diner… and it looks like he was right.”
The world around me seemed to stop completely.
The sound of the highway faded into a dull roar, and the oppressive heat of the July afternoon suddenly felt freezing.
He had just said David’s name.
These men hadn’t just pulled off the highway by coincidence.
They hadn’t targeted me because of my faded jacket or my gray hair.
They had come looking for me specifically.
“What did you just say?” I asked, keeping my hands resting loosely at my sides, a position that looked relaxed but allowed for a split-second strike if necessary.
The tall biker, whose vest bore a small patch that read 'Marcus', stood up straight and cracked his knuckles.
“You heard me, old man,” Marcus sneered. “David said you were a stubborn, useless fossil sitting on a goldmine. He said you come here every Tuesday like clockwork.”
My mind violently processed the information.
David had sent them.