The “29 Diner” logo on the menu’s cover amuses him with its grease-spotted kitschiness.

Lee Orkney sits down on a stool at the counter. His eyes dart around as if fascinated by the condiments and plates. He grins.

“Can I get you something to drink?” A waitress steps up. She chews her gum like she’s punishing it.

“Coffee.”

“You don’t look like you need it.”

“No, you’re right. Orange juice, then.”

“Do you need another minute to look at the menu?”

Seated at a booth by one of the diner’s windows, there’s a man in his late twenties wearing a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt like it’s the coolest thing ever. The woman seated beside him, also late twenties, is dangerously thin with short, spiky hair and wearing a hipster-ugly dress.

“Garçon!” the Hawaiian shirt guy calls out. He holds up his coffee cup. The waitress rolls her eyes.

“Yes, another minute,” Lee says. “Maybe several.”

The waitress saunters over to the booth with the coffee pot and fills their mugs as the couple giggles.

Lee leans slightly over the counter and stares into space. The waitress brings him a glass of orange juice. His cellphone buzzes.

“Hello.” Pause. “He can’t come to the phone right now.” Pause. “Yes, I hear them. Cody warned me this would happen.”

“I love you, Cabbage,” the skinny hipster says to the guy in the ridiculous shirt. 

“I love you, too, Honey Kitten.” They lunge halfway across the table and meet in a kiss. A filament of drool stretches and breaks between their lips as they lean back. Cabbage lifts himself up and stomps his feet into the shiny booth. He points a chrome pistol to his left. “Everybody be cool, this a robbery!”

Honey Kitten springs from the booth into the aisle, gripping a black pistol in her left hand. “If any of you fucking pigs mo-”

A gun shot to the chest interrupts her. A second and a third shot ruin Cabbage’s shirt. Honey Kitten falls backward onto the table; Cabbage flops on top of her.

Lee raises the cellphone back up to his ear, still pointing his semi-auto at the fallen couple. “Detachment is enlightenment.” He hangs up and tosses the phone onto the counter. Tucks the pistol into his waistband. Walks out of the diner, basking in his savoir faire.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lee’s teenage daughter screeches. “Yer like a fucking robot with no emotional responses to anything.” She rushes into her room and slams the door shut behind her. Lee raises his hand to knock on the door, pauses for a moment; without knocking, he walks into the kitchen.

His wife blows on the surface of her coffee to cool it. She often wears a bathrobe late in the day. She brushes her hair back flat against her scalp, not bothering to do anything with it unless she cannot avoid going out. Today is no different.

“Way to go,” she says. “What made you think you could be a father, anyways?”

Lee starts to speak but stops. Three masked men dressed in black run past the window.

They kick in the front door and rush in. His wife screams.

Cody, a wiry man in his early twenties, sits in the passenger seat of the SUV, radiating hostility. “It’s hard to know who to trust,” Cody says.

Lee is driving.

“Sometimes. But sometimes it’s not?”

“No, sometimes it’s easy,” Lee says. “Some people are smug and manipulative and should never be trusted. Other people are sincere and kind. Family should always be trusted, even when they don’t deserve it.”

Cody smirks and muffles a laugh. “Do ya ever worry yer business partner might screw you over?”

“No, he knows I could kick his ass,” Lee says without discernible swagger.

“Because yer bigger than him?”

“That and he’s never been in a fight. Not ever. Even when he was a kid. If he gets hit for the first time now he’s not likely to take it well.”

“That’s pathetic.” Cody is indignant at the thought of not fighting.

“No, it’s quite admirable, I suppose. It’s just surprising.”

“Maybe I should hit him up for a donation later.”

“Be my guest.”

“When we get to the ATM, park off to the side,” Cody gestures with a semi-auto pistol. “Right there, to the left of the entrance.” Lee pulls over next to a bank. He unsnaps his seat belt and opens the door. “Remember, take out the maximum,” Cody instructs. “Don’t rush but don’t dilly-dally. I’ll be watching.”

At the ATM: Lee pulls out his wallet, and from that, his bank card. He sticks the card into the machine and dials his PIN. A young girl sitting in the back seat of a parked car nearby eyes him with suspicious appraisal.

“Pay attention, Lee,” Cody says.

In the SUV: Lee hands a wad of cash to Cody, starts the engine, pulls into traffic. “Do you hate me?” Cody asks.

“With a hidden ferocity,” Lee replies.

“Pull over again.”

Lee pulls over a half-block from the diner.

Cody hands the pistol to Lee. “Go ahead, shoot me. Just bear in mind, if I don’t call in two minutes yer wife and yer cute little daughter will be dog food.” Cody waves a cellphone at Lee.

Lee grips the gun tighter.

“Pull the trigger. I don’t give a shit. Yer a coward but I’m-”

Lee pulls the trigger. Cody’s heart leaps through his spinal cord. His soul drips down the upholstery.

“Enlightenment is the acceptance of all horrors.” Lee gets out of the SUV and walks past a red sign with white letters reading “29 Diner Open 24 Hours.” He tucks the pistol into the back of his waist band concealed by his jacket.

Cabbage holds the diner’s front door open for Honey Kitten. She skips inside, a mischievous smile on her avian face. Lee follows them in.

Robert Sumner grew up in Virginia and has been a Californian for twenty years. His fiction has appeared in Riprap, The Emerson Review, The Quotable, Jokes Review, and The Penmen Review.