You Don't Name Him

Chapter 1

Chapter-1

I got arrested at Mitchell's Dining Place at one o' clock. I was eating boiled eggs with my power booster, coffee. A late breakfast, not lunch. I was dangerously dehydrated and completely tired after a long walk under the afternoon heat. All the way from the highway to the edge of the town.

The diner was small but relatively new, brightly lit and clean. It had an uncanny appearance of a railroad car. It was quite narrow, with a long lunch table and the kitchen bumped out back. Booths lining the opposite wall. A doorway where the center booth would be.

I was in a booth, at the window, reading somebody's abandoned newspaper about a campaign advert requesting the voters to vote for the correct representative. I didn't care because I didn't vote the last time and I could not go to vote this time as well. Outside, the sun had taken a timeout but the heatwave was still visible to me. I saw the police cruisers pull into the gravel lot. They were moving fast with a sense of urgency and suddenly crunched to a stop. Light bars flashing and popping red and blue. Doors burst opened, policemen jumped out. Two from each car, weapons ready. Two revolvers, two shotguns. I didn't mind the sight of revolvers but I definitely shuddered on seeing the two shotguns. A single shot can take down any man. They split into two teams, each with alternate weapons. One of each rushed to the door.

I just sat and watched them. I knew who was in the diner. A cook in the kitchen, three waitresses, two old men and then, there was me. I instantly knew that this operation was for me because I had been in that town for mostly about an hour or so. The others had probably been here for all their lives. A problem with them and I would've seen an embarrassed sergeant coming into the diner and he would've walked up to them and told them to come down to the police station. There wouldn't be any weapons or this rush. The operation was definitely for me and I didn't have the faintest idea about the reason behind it.

I crammed the boiled eggs into my mouth finished up my coffee, folded the newspaper into a square and shoved it into my pocket. As I sat, I kept my hands on the table.

The guy with the revolver stayed at the door, went into a crouch and pointed his weapon at my head. The guy with the shotgun approached close. These were fit and lean boys unlike the other fat and unfit ones. Textbook moves. The revolver at the door would cover the entire room with accuracy. The shotgun would splatter me all over the window, spray-painting it to red. All this would happen if I would give them the reason to do it. So, I stayed still, with my hands at a visible position which indicated that I was not armed.