The Last Mug at 5:00 AM
The Last Mug at 5:00 AM
The neon sign outside Joe’s Diner flickered, buzzing like an angry wasp. It was 4:58 AM, raining heavy enough to drown a frog, and Sam was on his third mug of black coffee.
He didn’t drink black coffee because he liked the taste. He drank it because pain kept you awake, and remaining awake was currently the only thing keeping him alive.
The bell above the glass door chimed.
A girl walked in, wearing a yellow raincoat three sizes too big and carrying a leather duffel bag that dragged on the linoleum floor. She swept back her hood, revealing soaked red hair and eyes that scanned the diner like a cornered animal calculating its exits.
She sat in the booth right across from Sam. Not the whole diner—just his booth.
"You’re sitting in my personal space," Sam said, without looking up from his mug.
"The guy with the silver revolver in his jacket pocket outside doesn't care about your personal space," she whispered, leaning over the Formica table. "And right now, he thinks I'm sitting with my boyfriend."
Sam paused, his mug halfway to his lips. He slowly glanced out the rain-streaked window. Across the street, standing under the shadow of an awning, was a broad-shouldered figure in a dark trench coat. Hand tucked inside his coat. Eyes fixed on the diner.
"First of all," Sam said, taking a slow sip, "I'm way too underpaid for this. Second, who is he?"
"My ex-boss," she said, unzipping her bag just an inch. Inside was a heavy, metallic gleam. "And I just stole his company's most valuable prototype."
Sam sighed, setting his coffee down with a soft click. "I came here for a bagel, Maya."
She froze. "How do you know my name?"
Sam pulled a badge from his jacket, flipped it open for barely two seconds, and snapped it shut.
May you like
"Because," Sam grinned, flashing a quick, tired smile, "I was sent here to arrest you. But looking at that guy across the street... I think we both need a ride."
He slid a pair of car keys across the table. "You drive. I'll cover the rear."
