CHAPTER 2 — THE CALL
The biker spun the cane through the air like a trophy.
"This might be the only thing keeping him alive!"
More laughter.
More cameras.
More humiliation.
Still no reaction.
The old man simply watched.
Watched the coffee drip from the table.
Watched the broken glass scatter across the floor.
Then his eyes stopped.
Locked onto something hidden beneath the biker's collar.
A faded silver hawk patch.
Everything changed.
Not anger.
Recognition.
The old man slowly reached into his jacket.
Pulled out a small black key fob.
The bikers burst out laughing again.
"What is that?"
"Calling life support?"
The old man pressed a button.
A quiet click.
Then raised it toward his ear.
"It's me."
The room gradually fell silent.
A long pause.
Then three simple words.
"Bring him here."
The call ended.
Nobody understood.
Until tires screamed outside.
One black SUV.
Then another.
Then another.
Then another.
Armored government vehicles flooded the parking lot.
Dark windows.
Official plates.
The diner became completely silent.
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And for the first time...
The bikers looked nervous.
