Free Don't Know Jack by Diane Capri

lot. Only two vehicles were there: the Blazer they’d arrived in and the green Saturn, presumably hers. Both were engulfed in the continuing monsoon.
    “Something wrong?” Gaspar asked.
    “I’m not supposed to make change for a hundred,” Mary said so quietly Kim could barely hear her.
    “I can give you a credit card if you want, but it seems silly to do that for a twelve dollar lunch tab.”  His voice trailed off when he, too, noticed Mary was close to panic.
    What the hell?
    Kim wiped the mustard and salt off her fingers with her napkin, reached into her pocket, and took out a twenty she’d gotten from the ATM in Atlanta. She handed it to Mary. “Here. Use this. He can pay me back later.”
    “That’s great. I’ll be right back.”  Mary took the twenty, pinching both bills and the check between thumb and forefinger, and rushed off to the kitchen.
    “What do you suppose that was about?” Gaspar asked.
    “Maybe she closed the register already. It’s 2:58, according to their clock.”  Kim drank coffee while they waited for Mary’s return with the change. Gaspar remained alert. For what, Kim couldn’t say.
    Mary didn’t come back.
    Gaspar said quietly, “There’s something happening here.”
    Kim looked up, saw nothing new in the mirror. “Where?”
    “GHP cruiser in the lot. Two guys inside, not one. Roscoe said GHP rides one to a car unless they need back up.”
    Kim looked outside and watched the GHP car park between the Blazer and the diner’s door. “Maybe they don’t know the place closes at three.”
         Both officers exited the car. Burly. At least 6’3” and 250 pounds each. Either end of any decent college football team was smaller. They moved through the rain side by side like they had a purpose. Each one held a shotgun.
    Gaspar said, “I’m guessing they’re not here for the Vidalia onions.”
    “Probably not.”
    “Less than ten seconds. Are you ready?” Gaspar asked.
    She set her cup down. Wiped her hands. Put her napkin on the table. She noticed she’d never picked up her phone after the last internet search and she couldn’t remember whether she’d checked the results. No time for that now. She positioned the phone in the breast pocket of her jacket and pressed the application button to record and send video to the remote FBI server, just in case.
    “I’ll lead. I’d rather not shoot anybody today,” she said, looking out the window. The twin towers seemed to glide through the rain curtain as if a moving sidewalk carried them relentlessly forward instead of their feet.
    Gaspar placed both of his hands on the table top, in full view. She did the same. He asked, “Have you ever shot anybody?”
    Kim didn’t answer. She lifted her gaze to the mirror. Only the trick of reflection and perspective made them seem to grow larger with each step, right? 
    The two men entered the diner single file out of necessity. No way two sets of those shoulders could pass through the door frame at the same time, even without the shotguns.
    At the T, they peeled off. One moved toward the kitchen; the other approached, shotgun raised and ready. He stopped across the tile directly parallel to their table, set his legs shoulder width apart as if he was bracing to shoot. He stood out of reach, but left space for Kim and Gaspar to exit the booth and stand. Which they did. Slowly. Hands in the air, palms out. Before being asked.
    “Officer…Leach,” Kim said, facing him because of the camera in her pocket, reading his name plate for the audio, like she’d been trained. “Do you know who we are?”
    Leach said nothing, which was not normal law enforcement procedure anywhere.
    “I’ve got I.D. in my pocket,” Kim said. “I’m going to pull it out and show it to you. OK?”  The guy nodded. Once. Kim said, “I’ll take that as a yes. Don’t shoot me.”  She kept her left hand raised, and reached slowly into her pocket with her right and pulled out her ID wallet. She