The duo that comes in is trouble. He can feel it without even looking up from his coffee. They're nervous in the way all the hopped up little shits are that think they're some hot stuff cause they got their hands on a gun.
The way they walk past him promises violence and the next sip of coffee tastes like adrenaline. He curls the tip of his tongue around his teeth and sucks on them, searches for the chip Red's left last time he's punched him in the face.
The diner's quiet. Almost empty except for the cook, the two tired waitresses, the homeless kid in the one corner and the blonde girl in the other. And Frank himself.
Ain't a surprise. The clock on the wall says it's close to 4am.
Frank takes another sip of his coffee and turns his head. Just enough to see one of the two idiots reach under his jacket.
"You wanna give yourself another asshole?" Frank speaks up. He's still got his cup in his left hand. The other's dropped off the edge of the chipped table. His forefinger itches for the trigger of his own gun, right there against his ribs.
"What?" the kid says and turns. He's maybe seventeen.
"Putting your piece in the back of your jeans." Frank continues. He's keeping it conversational. Seems like the right call, because the kid hesitates. "Good way to shoot your ass off."
"Hey!" the other one says. He's older. Somewhere in his twenties. Old enough to get an ego, young enough to think he's untouchable because he's got some lead he can throw around. "The fuck you doing?" he's talking to the younger kid.
"Makin' a mistake." Frank jumps in. All the attention is on them now. "Or maybe not?" he offers the kid. "C'mon, just walk outta here."
He thinks he's got him. Kid looks unsure. It's his first time.
He's going for his own gun (in a holster, under his jacket. Right side. He's left handed.) and Frank moves.
The cup hits the floor and shatters a half-second before his fist connects with the little shit's shoulder, in the soft triangle under the clavicle and joint. The arm goes numb for a second, long enough for Frank to grip him by the forearm, pull and twist and then Frank's attention is elsewhere for a moment.
Someone else in the diner moves.
The shift of his weight to kick the kid's legs out from under him is a bad position to be in, but Frank turns, brings the body between him and the wildcard.
But she isn't going for him.
She's going for the other kid.
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