The next morning, Elias found a motorcycle parked outside the diner.
It was old.
Black.
Heavy.
A man stood beside it.
He was perhaps sixty years old, with a long gray beard.
Elias recognized him immediately.
"Marcus."
The man smiled.
"Still alive, old friend."
Elias stared at him.
"You shouldn't be here."
Marcus removed his sunglasses.
"I heard."
"Who told you?"
"Everybody."
Elias looked away.
Marcus entered the diner.
"How bad?"
"Three windows."
"That's not what I mean."
Elias said nothing.
Marcus sat.
"You know what happens if they keep pushing."
"I know."
"They don't."
Elias looked at him.
"They don't what?"
"They don't know who they're dealing with."
Elias sighed.
"That's the problem."
Marcus leaned forward.
"Then tell them."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I left that life."
Marcus smiled sadly.
"No, Elias. You survived it."
The difference hung between them.
Elias looked at the old photograph.
Marcus followed his gaze.
"We all thought we'd die young."
"Some did."
Marcus nodded.
"Some did."
Silence filled the diner.