Catch and Release

"I miss the days when a man could have a seat in an old vinyl booth, slide across the cushion shined up with Armorall, and order a fifty-cent cup of coffee."

"So the coffee is three bucks now. So what?"

"So, now I have to go outside, at least three paces from the door, to light up. Coffee and cigarettes in an all-night diner, son. I miss that."

"It hasn't been that long ago, except for the fifty cents a cup part."

"It's been too long."

"Like this meeting."

The clink of silverware on porcelain, the sizzle of the flattop griddle in the diner's kitchen, these sounds filled the air and complimented smells of bacon and pancakes. Snatches of conversation could be heard over the movement of city life.

The two men contemplated one another. One, an old man with the sharp eyes of a hawk. The other, a younger man with the wary eyes of a rabbit about to run. The old man knew the younger one was scared, so he kept movements large, slow, and measured.

Finally, the grizzled veteran of wars fought at home and elsewhere sighed.

"Kid, I know you did it."

"Did what?"

Instead of answering, the old man rolled his eyes. He took a long sip of his almost-too-hot coffee, added a little more creamer from the tiny metal pitcher that sat next to the salt and pepper shakers. He sipped again, nodded, and reached into the jacket of his cheap sport coat.

The rabbit flinched.

The old predator smirked, tossing a clear plastic bag on the tabletop. It was like a ziploc, but not as supple. Crinklier. It was permanently sealed with a red band at the top; any attempts to reopen it would end up with the word "evidence" broken and split apart. The next best thing to tamper proof, it was certainly tamper evident.

That last thought, fleeting as it was, made the old hawk laugh out loud.

"What's so funny?"

"You, mostly. But stray thoughts make me giggle in my advanced age, too. So. You want to run, or what?"

"Why would I do that?" He licked his lips, tensing. He glanced around at available escape routes.

"I won't chase you, kid. I don't do that."

Somehow, that made the younger man even more nervous.

"Why would I run, anyway?"

"Because you killed a man with a forty-five caliber handgun. You shot him six times. You picked up five shells. The sixth shell has a partial thumbprint on it. I found it. You didn't. Ballistics have been run on the slugs, and there's no match in our database to the barrel, but I figure, if I were to search you right now, you might just be dumb enough to have the piece tucked in your waistband. Or maybe you're smarter than that. Maybe that gun is gone. Maybe you're super smart; lots of people have forty-fives. Maybe just the barrel was tossed in a river somewhere, and you were slick enough to pick up a replacement barrel at a gun show. With cash. Out of town. Maybe even out of state. Could be all of that is true, and it's all damned clever, too, except for this troublesome little hunk of brass here. Wrapped up so pretty and nice in a plastic bag." The man's speech seemed to have worn him out, his breath was a little hollow. He coughed, sighed again, and sipped his coffee.

The rabbit was now white, but still not running.

"What is this, detective?"

"Breakfast."

The waitress reappeared as if by magic, and an omelette appeared on the table next to the cup of coffee. The old cop smiled up at the young lady, thanked her, and he proceeded to butter his toast.

"Seriously."

"Seriously. I don't joke about food, kid."

"I guess you're a man who doesn't joke about much at all."

The detective shrugged, ate. Watched.

Tentatively, the younger man reached for the plastic bag. He held it up, looking through it at the man who had invited him to the diner.

"Pretty crazy of you to just toss this at me, if what you say is true. I could just ... take it. Maybe shoot you. Maybe just leave." With that, the kid flashes a chrome 1911, complete with what looked like pearl handles.

The cop's response was to scoop up a mouthful of fluffy, deliciously cheesy breakfast.

"I love how this place is just greasy enough, y'know?"

The rabbit cocked his head at the predator at the table. "I threaten you, and you just...eat?"

"I don't feel threatened."

The younger man couldn't help but bristle a little at the subtle insult.

"Kid, if I wanted you gone, you'd be gone. If I wanted to arrest you, we'd have done this in the dead of night when you were tucked in bed with your sweetie-sweet. Naked as the day you were born, snatched up and cuffed before you knew what day it was or where you were. Instead, I invite you to breakfast. I didn't invite you to the station. We're not in an interrogation room. We're at a diner. Jesus Christ, you're thick. Smarter than most, but still so fuckin' dense. Flashing me your nickel-plated sissy pistol like it's my first time. I'm a long way from prom night, sugartits." He stops, takes a bite, sighs. "Goddamn, we never catch the smart ones, really."

"You never caught smart ones, huh?"

"Sure. Had to kill a few more than I caught, though."

Just like that, conversation was over.

The rabbit watched the hawk eat, sip his coffee, and finally lean back in the booth.

"Old man. What is this all about? Can I just, Idunno, go?"

"Sure. You never had to stay."

"What about the shell?"

"What shell?"

The plastic bag slid off the table and into the rabbit's pocket.

"No."

"No? What do you mean, no? You just said 'what shell'!"

"Fuck's sake, kid. Take the shell out. Wipe it down, wrap it in a napkin, toss it in the trashcan in the bathroom. Just like that, it's gone. Like it never existed. Throw away the bag somewhere else, but make sure it ends up in an actual trash can on the street. Go be good to that woman."

At this, the rabbit's eared perked. "What are you saying?"

"What I'm saying is, she's worth it. You did the right thing. Be good. Do good."

"What do you know about it? Aren't you supposed to take me in, or something?"

"My job is to catch bad guys, kid."

"Murder is bad."

"What you did was kill a man. That makes you a killer, not a murderer."

"What's the difference?"

"If you do her like the last man did, you'll know."

With that, the old man left the younger one to pay the tab, and they never saw one another again.