The Hitmen
By Olivia Salter
The bell above the diner door jingled, sharp and jarring in the silence of the late-night shift. Two men walked in, their presence cutting through the monotony like a blade.
One was tall and lean, dressed in a bomber jacket that screamed money, his shoes too clean for this neighborhood. His eyes scanned the room coldly, taking in every detail, as if measuring the air itself. The other was shorter, stockier, his hoodie pulled low over his face, the hood casting shadows that made him look like a ghost. He moved with the jittery energy of someone used to violence, always waiting for something to break.Miles, the young man behind the counter, looked up from his phone. His stomach dropped. He’d been scrolling through job listings that promised quick cash but felt like dead ends, just like this place. His fingers trembled for a moment as he locked his phone. These two didn’t belong here. And he wished, more than anything, that he didn’t either.
The tall one slid onto a barstool at the counter, his movements slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He didn’t look at Miles, just gestured for coffee, his voice flat, almost robotic.
"Coffee," he said, and then pulled out his phone, eyes glued to the screen, as though this wasn’t the least bit out of place.
The shorter man followed, sitting next to him, his eyes flicking between the menu on the wall and Miles. He let out a low chuckle.
"Two burgers," he said, his smirk wide. "Extra onions and pickles."
Miles nodded and turned to the grill, his hands moving automatically. Every part of him was alert, tense. He could feel their eyes on him, heavy and expectant. The silence stretched like a live wire, vibrating with something dark.
He placed the plates in front of them, his hands steady despite the sweat on his palms. The tall man didn’t look up, but the shorter one finally did, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, his voice dropping.
"So, when does he show?"
Miles froze. His throat went dry. “Who?”
The shorter man’s grin widened, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You know who. Big guy. Garrett.”
Miles forced a shrug, but it didn’t feel natural. "I don’t know any Garrett."
The tall man’s gaze sharpened, locking on Miles. His voice was a calm blade. "We know he’s been here."
The words hit Miles like a slap, but he said nothing, just wiped the counter with a rag, his stomach churning. What the hell did they want with Garrett?
The shorter man leaned closer, his voice a low whisper. "You’ll see him soon enough. You don’t want to keep us waiting." He laughed quietly, the sound sharp, like a knife scraping across glass.
Miles’ heart hammered in his chest. The tension thickened, filling every inch of the small diner. He kept his eyes on the counter, his hands moving automatically as if they had a mind of their own.
Minutes dragged on. The Hitmen ate in silence, their conversation muted, their presence suffocating. The clock ticked loudly in the background. Miles’ phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t dare check it.
Then, the door jingled again, and the air seemed to freeze.
Garrett walked in.
He was broad, heavyset, with the kind of weariness that came from years of running, fighting, surviving. His eyes swept the room, noting the two men at the counter. Recognition flickered in their eyes.
"Garrett," the shorter man said with false cheer, a smile spreading on his face. "Finally."
Garrett didn’t smile back. He didn’t sit. He stood there for a moment, his eyes hardening. "Whatever you’re here for, it’s not happening."
The tall man raised an eyebrow, almost bored. "We’re just here to talk."
"Then talk," Garrett said, his voice a low rumble, rough from years of hard living. "But I’m telling you right now, you won’t get what you want."
The shorter man chuckled darkly. "It’s cute how you think this is optional."
Miles felt the air grow thick. His hand hovered near his phone, the temptation to call someone growing stronger. But his mind raced—who would he even call? The cops? It would be too late.
"You don’t scare me," Garrett said, his voice rising, his body tense but steady. "And you don’t scare anyone who matters."
The tall man let out a slow breath, as if the situation was starting to bore him. "We’re not here to scare you, Garrett. We’re here to end this."
The words hung in the air, and Miles felt his stomach flip. He could see it in Garrett’s eyes. He wasn’t afraid. But could he fight them off? Could he win?
But then, Garrett did something that made everyone in the diner freeze.
He laughed. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to fill the room with a dangerous energy. "You think I’m just going to roll over for you?" His hand slid into his jacket, and for a moment, Miles thought it was a gun. But then Garrett pulled out a phone, holding it up to show the screen. "I’m not that stupid," he said, his voice steady. "You’re already done."
The shorter man’s grin dropped. The tall man leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, studying the phone with suspicion.
“What is this?” the shorter man barked.
“Insurance,” Garrett replied, his lips curling into a sly smile. "This feed’s live. Anything happens to me, the people I work for will know. And they’ll know it was you."
Miles' pulse quickened. He hadn’t expected Garrett to be so prepared, so calm under pressure. Was it enough to stop the Hitmen?
The Hitmen exchanged a glance. The tall one scowled. “Cute trick,” he muttered, pulling a small device from his pocket. "Let’s see how smart you are now."
He flicked the switch on the jammer, and Garrett’s phone screen went blank, the feed cut off.
Garrett’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. "So that’s it, huh? You two think you’ve got all the power?" He didn’t back down, not even an inch.
The taller man smirked, his voice a low growl. "We don’t think, Garrett. We know."
The shorter man stood up slowly, cracking his knuckles. "You had your chance. We don’t like dragging these things out."
Miles could hear the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. His hand hovered over his phone, but his fingers felt numb, useless.
Garrett’s voice cut through the tension. "You think you’re untouchable, but you’re just foot soldiers. You don’t even know the game you’re playing."
The tall man laughed, low and dangerous. "You always did talk big. It’s probably what got you into this mess."
Garrett didn’t flinch, but his voice hardened. "I’m not the one in a mess." His eyes flicked toward Miles. "Kid, you don’t owe these clowns anything. You don’t have to watch this."
The words hung in the air like a rope around Miles’ neck. He didn’t know what to do. He was frozen, caught between two forces, both equally dangerous.
The taller man’s patience snapped. He pulled a gun from his pocket, the cold steel gleaming under the flickering neon light.
The room went deathly still.
"I warned you," Garrett said, his voice a low growl.
But before the gun could fire, the sound of sirens wailed outside. They were faint at first, but they grew louder, closer.
The shorter man cursed under his breath, glancing at the window. "You gotta be kidding me."
The tall man’s face twisted in frustration. “You called them?”
Garrett smiled faintly, his eyes never leaving the Hitmen. "Did you think I came here without a backup plan? You two are predictable."
The Hitmen exchanged a glance, and without another word, they backed off, shoving the gun back into the taller man’s jacket. They hurried toward the door, the sirens getting louder with each passing second.
Garrett didn’t move. He stood still as the two men vanished into the night.
Miles’ legs gave out, and he leaned heavily against the counter, his breath shaky. His phone had slipped from his hand and clattered onto the surface, screen cracked.
Garrett strolled over to the counter, his movements casual, like he hadn’t just stared death in the face. He picked up his coffee, took a sip, and set it down without a word.
"You alright, kid?" Garrett asked.
Miles nodded shakily, though his mind was racing. “I didn’t call them.”
Garrett gave him a knowing look but didn’t say anything. Instead, he pulled out a second phone from his pocket. "I told you, you’ve got a choice. You made the right one tonight."
Miles couldn’t shake the feeling that his life had just changed, that he’d crossed a line into something darker, something far beyond the confines of this greasy diner.
Before he could say anything more, the door swung open, and two officers stepped inside, their hands resting on their holsters.
"They left in a hurry," Garrett said, nodding toward the booth where the Hitmen had been sitting. "You’ll find what you need there."
The officers exchanged a glance before moving toward the booth, their boots clacking against the worn linoleum. Miles stood frozen, still processing everything that had just unfolded, the weight of the moment too heavy to carry. The sirens outside grew louder, but the stillness inside the diner felt like a tomb.
He couldn’t look at the officers. He couldn’t look at Garrett, either, even though his mind was racing, trying to piece together the puzzle that had just exploded into his life. One minute, he was flipping burgers and daydreaming about a way out of this dead-end job, and the next, he was caught in the middle of something that felt like it had been brewing for years, something that had nothing to do with him but now had everything to do with him.
Garrett didn’t seem concerned about the cops. He finished his coffee, slowly and deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world.
Miles watched him, the pit in his stomach deepening.
“You’re not like them,” Miles muttered, his voice barely a whisper.
Garrett didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pushed the empty cup away and looked Miles straight in the eye, a quiet understanding between them.
“Not like them?” Garrett repeated, his tone calm, unshaken. “No. I’m better than them.”
Miles blinked, taken aback. He didn’t know whether to be scared or impressed. Garrett’s confidence was unnerving, but there was something about it that made Miles feel like maybe, just maybe, he was looking at a man who knew exactly how to survive.
“What happens now?” Miles asked, his voice trembling.
Garrett smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it. “You go back to your life, kid. The cops will clean this up. I’m just here for the cleanup. People like those two? They don’t walk away without consequences.”
The officers were returning now, one of them carrying something from the booth, a file, maybe. Their eyes flicked toward Garrett, but neither of them said a word to him. They were too busy with the scene, too busy with their own agenda to bother asking him questions.
Miles couldn’t shake the feeling that Garrett wasn’t just an ordinary guy. Something about the way he carried himself told Miles there was more—far more—under the surface. And he didn’t think Garrett was just talking about the Hitmen. He was talking about something else. Something dangerous. Something that had just crossed his path, whether he was ready or not.
Before Miles could ask another question, Garrett stood, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a second phone, something sleek and expensive-looking.
“You made the right choice,” Garrett said again, his voice barely audible. “Don’t forget that. Most people don’t make it out when they’re in the middle of this shit.”
The door swung open, and Garrett was already stepping outside, his silhouette disappearing into the night, swallowed up by the darkness.
Miles stayed frozen, his eyes fixed on the empty doorframe. He couldn’t explain it, but something in him had changed. Something about the way Garrett handled the situation, the quiet control he exuded, had somehow shifted the air in the diner, left a mark on him.
The officers didn’t seem to notice as they finished their investigation and walked toward the door.
One officer looked back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll be okay here, kid?”
Miles blinked, his mind foggy. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
The officers nodded, one of them casting a long, final glance at the booth before they left.
The door swung shut behind them, and Miles was left alone again, the quiet of the diner feeling like a weight pressing down on his chest. He hadn’t expected any of this to happen. He hadn’t expected to be involved in something so... raw.
For the first time in a long time, he felt his future press in on him—so heavy, so near. And for the first time in a long time, he wondered if this place had been his life all along. The burgers, the coffee, the loneliness of the late-night shift—was that really all there was? Or had Garrett’s brief appearance cracked open something larger, something more dangerous, that Miles couldn’t quite name?
He glanced at the counter, his hands trembling as he wiped it down one last time, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The world outside still felt far away, distant. But the diner? The diner was his world. It was the cage that had kept him here. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
The door jingled again, but this time it wasn’t the Hitmen returning. A woman stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room before landing on Miles. She looked familiar, though he couldn’t place her face.
She hesitated, then approached the counter.
“You alright, hon?” she asked, her voice soft but insistent.
Miles nodded, though he wasn’t sure if he was lying or telling the truth. "Yeah. Just... tired."
She smiled kindly, but her eyes held something else, something a little too knowing, as if she understood the weight that had settled on his shoulders.
“You sure?” she pressed.
He took a breath, his hand gripping the counter as he looked back at her, something shifting in his chest.
“I think I need to go,” he said quietly. “I need to get out of here.”
She raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile forming on her lips. “Maybe it's time you did.”
As he wiped his hands on his apron and grabbed his jacket, Miles felt a strange sense of finality settle in him. Maybe Garrett was right. Maybe he had a choice. He’d made the right one tonight. But that didn’t mean the story was over.
No, that was just the beginning.
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