Interlude in a Diner

Riley Proffard sat in the last booth on the left in the tiny diner as the Minimalist walked through the front door. Riley's hands lay flat on the table in front of him, between them steamed a cup of joe. As the door opened, the bright sun flashed across him and then disappeared again when the door banged shut.

"Cuppa joe, Hun?" That was Adele, the waitress.

"Water" That was the Minimalist, who sat down in the booth facing Riley, looking him straight in the eye.

"So they killed him after all, didn't they?" That was Riley Proffard, seventy four years old, long gray stringy hair, but bald on top.

The Minimalist nodded.

Adele placed the glass of water on the table between the Minimalist's hands.

Riley had pretty much known this was going to happen. This is what always happens in these situations. Riley thought back. Six times this had happened that he could remember. It's funny how you just keep doing the same things over and over throughout your career. Hang around long enough and you start looking like a fortune teller, because you always know what's going to happen next.

Riley had been in the business for fifty two years, ever since he graduated from the academy. It was funny how these things happened in cycles.

"They'll go after The Suit next", Riley told the Minimalist. "They'll think they can communicate with him."

The Minimalist nodded, drank the glass of water, and left.