Bradley looked at him.
Hassan's voice remained calm.
You wanted attention.
He picked up his cane.
You have it.
Outside, somewhere beyond the rain, a distant engine roared.
Then another.
Then another.
Charlie turned toward the window.
She couldn't see anything through the rain.
But Hassan did.
And for the first time that night, a faint smile crossed his face.
---
Bradley wasn't impressed.
He looked from Hassan to the windows and laughed.
Your friends coming to rescue you, Grandpa?
Hassan sat back down.
No.
Bradley frowned.
No?
Hassan picked up his coffee.
They're coming because they heard I stopped for coffee.
Bradley laughed again.
Sure.
Charlie noticed something.
Hassan wasn't frightened.
He wasn't even angry anymore.
He looked almost sad.
As if Bradley reminded him of a time he had hoped humanity had left behind.
Charlie walked toward the kitchen.
She needed to call the police.
She reached beneath the counter.
Her phone was there.
Before she could touch it, Bradley grabbed the cord of the wall telephone and yanked it from the socket.
Nobody's calling anybody.
Charlie froze.
Hassan looked at him.
That was foolish.
Bradley stepped closer.
You keep saying that.
Because you keep proving me right.
Troy laughed.
Bradley shoved the table.
Hassan's coffee spilled across his jeans.
Charlie grabbed a towel.
That's enough!
Bradley slapped the towel from her hand.
Stay out of it.
Charlie stood between him and Hassan.
No.
Bradley raised his hand.
Hassan's cane moved first.
It struck the floor with a sharp crack.
Touch her, Hassan said, "and you'll learn why old men sometimes survive long enough to become dangerous."
Bradley stared at him.
Then suddenly headlights swept across the diner windows.
One pair.
Then three.
Then ten.
The sound followed.
Engines.
Deep.
Heavy.
Thunderous.
Charlie looked outside.
Motorcycles were entering the parking lot.
Dozens.
The rain reflected their headlights.
More headlights appeared behind them.
Then more.
The first motorcycle stopped directly beneath the broken neon sign.
A rider climbed off.
Then another.
Then another.
Charlie counted twelve before she lost track.
The parking lot filled.
Bradley stopped smiling.
Troy whispered, "Brad..."
Hassan looked toward the door.
The bell rang.
A tall man entered.
He was perhaps sixty.
White beard.
Black vest.
Silver hair beneath a helmet.
His eyes immediately found Hassan.
Brother.
Hassan nodded.
Marcus.
Marcus walked over.
What happened?
Hassan looked toward Charlie.
This young woman stood between me and four idiots.
Marcus's gaze moved to Charlie.
He removed his wet gloves.
Thank you.
Charlie shook her head.
I just didn't want them hurting him.
Marcus smiled.
Sometimes that's all courage is.
Behind him, more riders filled the doorway.
Ten became thirty.
Thirty became fifty.
The diner manager, Greg Tanner, came rushing from his office.
What the hell is happening?
Nobody answered.
Outside, motorcycles continued arriving.
The rain couldn't hide their headlights.
Bradley suddenly looked very young.
Marcus turned toward him.
What's your name?
Bradley said nothing.
Marcus waited.
Bradley.
Bradley what?
Hayes.
Marcus's expression changed slightly.
Hayes.
He looked at Hassan.
Hassan nodded once.
Marcus understood.
He turned back.
Go home.
Bradley blinked.
What?
Go home.
You threatening me?
No.
Marcus looked at the motorcycles outside.
I'm giving you an opportunity.
Bradley tried to recover his arrogance.
My father owns half this county.
Marcus smiled.
Then he should teach his son not to attack seventy-six-year-old men.
Bradley clenched his fists.
But before he could answer, Hassan spoke.
Marcus.
Yes?
Don't frighten him.
Marcus nodded.
Hassan looked directly at Bradley.
Let him leave.
Bradley stared at the old man.
Something in Hassan's voice unsettled him more than the motorcycles had.
He turned.
The four young men walked outside.
Their truck started.
Then disappeared into the rain.
Only after they were gone did Charlie realize her hands were shaking.
Hassan noticed.
You all right, sweetheart?
Charlie nodded.
I think so.
He smiled.
You did good.
Charlie looked outside at the endless line of motorcycles.
Who are all these people?
Hassan leaned back.
Family.
Charlie looked at him.
You called them?
No.
Then how did they know?
Hassan's smile deepened.
I didn't have to.
---
At 1:18 a.m., the rain became heavier.
The motorcycles remained outside.
Nobody entered unless invited.
Nobody shouted.
Nobody threatened anyone.
They simply waited.
Charlie eventually brought coffee to the riders near the entrance.
There were too many to serve individually, so she started carrying pots.