Once upon a time, the old Ford pickup truck might have been a dull olive green, but now the color was lost under mud and dents and scrapes and a little bit of rust around the wheel wells. It bounced down the dirt road towards the white farmhouse sitting on the hill.

Nessie hopped up from the rocking chair on the front porch. It banged against the outside of the house as she snatched up her purse and darted for the truck, her loafers clicking on the rocks sunk into the ground to make a sort of walkway. She grabbed the passenger side door handle and kicked the base of the door. She tugged it open and clambered inside, sitting down on the bench seat.

"Della, you need to get the door fixed," she said gently as Della stomped on the gas and they took off down the road towards town, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon.

"Why bother?" Della said reasonably, reaching over to adjust the dial on the radio. It was useless – they wouldn't get any kind of decent reception until they got into town proper, which wouldn't be for another ten minutes. For now, they got Frank Sinatra crooning in and out, just barely audible over the rattling of the truck.

"You're the only one who rides with me, and you know the trick," Della continued.

"Please, it's starting to scuff up my shoes, doing that every morning," Nessie said, looking down at the toes of her shoes and pouting.

"No one's looking at your shoes, they're too blinded by the uniforms," Della said with a scoff.

Nessie and Della were both waitresses at Powers Café, which was the best diner in town. In a town of barely six hundred people, it was also the only diner. The uniform for the waitresses was a light yellow smock-like dress with black and white gingham and the collar, pockets, and cuffs.

"The day Henry gives those up is the day the world ends," Nessie giggled, referring to their boss, who had outright ignored years of complaints about the uniforms and how they showed every little stain, on top of being highly unflattering.

Nessie reached down to Della's purse, sitting in the floorboard by her feet. She pulled it up and dug past the thin pocketbook and the tube of lipstick, pulling out the small book inside.

"Dubliners," Nessie read. "By James Joyce." She flipped through the pages absently. "Anything good in here?"

"Araby has been alright," Della admitted. "Bit depressing, I don't really like it."

Nessie raised an eyebrow as she shoved the book back inside the purse and dropped it back to the floorboard. "But it's alright?"

"From a purely literary perspective… yes."

Nessie rolled her eyes. "Honey, we gotta get you out of here and into a college."

Della snorted. "Yes, and I'll pay for it with what money, exactly?"

"You could get scholarships!" Nessie insisted, grabbing Della's arm. She was quickly shaken off as Della nearly plowed off the road into a weather-beaten fence and the cows beyond.

"Nessie!" Della hissed, blue eyes flashing, and Nessie clasped her hands together in her lap apologetically.

"Sorry, sorry!" she said hastily. "But you could!"

"Scholarships require graduating from high school," Della said shortly. "I only have an eighth grade education."

Nessie rolled her eyes. "Please, you're smarter than anyone else in this town!"

"And what about you?" Della countered. "You've spent hours learning how to dance, teaching yourself, but you don't ever try and get out of here, do you?"

Nessie blushed. "I ain't that good…"

"Please," Della snorted. "If I could kick my leg as high as you could, I'd head straight for the Rockettes."

Nessie sighed. "I guess the truth is we're both stuck here for lack of options," she said glumly, putting her chin in her hand and peering out the window at the rolling green fields they were driving past. She tilted her head. "Tobacco looks like it's coming in well this year."

Della glanced sideways. "It'll be ready for harvest in a week or two, we'll have workers pouring in from all over to help."

"More tips," Nessie said, but her optimism was obviously forced.

"More tips," Della echoed hollowly as they reached town and the radio suddenly sputtered alive again.

"Oh! I love to climb a mountain, and to reach the highest peak. But it doesn't thrill me half as much
as dancing cheek to cheek."

Della had the key to the place, so she was the one who opened up Powers at a few minutes before six, counting the money in the till while Nessie darted here and there, putting on the coffee and making sure the tables were all clean. At six minutes to six, the cook Jimmy staggered in with two day's worth of stubble and the smell of alcohol on him, clearly still drunk from last night. Della, as usual, welcomed him with a sneer of disgust as he staggered into the kitchen, pulling on his apron as he went.

"You could be a little nicer," Nessie chided as she set out apple and peach pies under glass lids to try and tempt customers. "Jimmy's harmless."

"Jimmy's worse that Cooter Brown," Della countered as she slammed the cash drawer shut. With a sigh, she dug her apron out from under the counter and tied it behind her back.

The moment the clock ticked its way to six o'clock, the door swung open and the first customers of the day began to trickle in. Nessie leaned over the counter, grinning at Della wearily.

"Another day, another dime," she muttered as she headed towards the door. "Hello Shawn!" she chirped to the man who'd just come in the door. "Can I get you a booth?"

Shawn gave a small, tired smile. He was the kind who couldn't really function until he had some caffeine in his system. "No thanks, Nessie, just the factory breakfast and a coffee."

"Comin' right up," Nessie chirped, scribbling it down on her notepad and smacking it down on the window. "Factory special, Jimmy, look alive!" she yelled into the kitchen, and the sound of frying started.

Everybody in the area did one of two things. They either farmed or they worked at the factory. The place made metal parts for pretty much anything they could get a contract for. Automobile parts, I beams, even gun parts on occasion. The factory workers made up the bulk of their early-morning crowd – boys coming in for a little coffee and something quick before heading in to a sixteen hour shift working hot metal.

Jimmy handed the factory special over the window. It was some scrambled eggs and a couple pieces of bacon sandwiched between two slices of toast and wrapped in a napkin, for eating on the go.

Della headed to the coffee machine, pulling a paper cup off the stack and filling it up as far as she dared before carefully carting it over to the register. Shawn gave her another weak smile he handed over the money – he'd been in enough to know how much he owed – and grabbed his coffee. Nessie passed him the food and he was out the door.

The next customer was a scruffy guy in jeans and a baseball cap who sat down wearily at one of the booths. Nessie grabbed a menu and plastered a smile on her face before walking over to him.

"Hi, my name's Nessie, what can I get you to drink?" she asked as she set down the menu.

"Black coffee and eggs?" the man asked hopefully, passing the menu back.

"Scrambled?" she asked.

He nodded. "And bacon?"

"Black coffee, eggs, and bacon coming right up," she said, marking it down and replacing the menu in the stack by the register before tearing the sheet out of her notepad and sliding it through the window to Jimmy.

"Table three just got someone," Della said as she grabbed a cup of coffee for herself and proceeded to drown it in creamer. She took a hearty swig and winced.

"Hot?" Nessie asked innocently.

"Go take the order," Della scowled, gesturing at the table and taking another, smaller sip of her coffee. Nessie giggled as she grabbed a menu and approached the other table.

As the morning dragged on more and more people trickled in. The girls recognized several regulars who filtered in, mostly guys who worked at the same place as Shawn grabbing a coffee and their 'factory breakfast' meal.

The rest of their customers this early in the morning were usually truckers just coming off a long haul, looking for some food and rest. Their parking lot was big and Henry let guys park there and catch some Zs in their trucks if they wanted to, or, if they were feeling fancy, they drove to one of the skuzzy hotels that lined the railroad tracks and grabbed a room for a couple of hours.

Della dropped off a short stack of pancakes at one table, refilled the coffee cup of a guy who looked like he was about to pitch forward asleep into his oatmeal, and dodged a smack on the rear from a particularly rowdy pair of guys.

"Can I tempt you with a coffee for the road or a piece of pie?" Della asked sweetly as she approached the corner table.

"Coffee to go, thanks," grunted the man, already digging in his pocket and looking ready to go.

She nodded. "I'll have it waiting for you at the register," she promised, sliding her tray through the window and putting the empty coffee pot back to refill before fixing up a to-go cup. True to her word, it was waiting by the register when he came up to pay.

He took his coffee thankfully and handed over his money. Della was putting it in the till when the bell over the door rang cheerfully. In slipped a man who wasn't their usual fare. He wore a tweed coat and had a fedora pulled low, tufts of graying hair poking out of the sides. He was clutching a briefcase to his chest and looked more like a twitchy professor than the type they normally got.

"Take a seat and I'll be with you in a sec," Della called to the man. He flinched violently and flushed before nodding and skittering off to a table in the back corner. Della raised an eyebrow at him as he slid into the sticky red pleather booth and began to look around like he expected the boogie man to crawl out from under one of the tables. As one of the people who'd cleaned out from under those tables on occasion, Della could testify that not even the devil himself would hide under one.

"Twitchy, isn't he?" Nessie observed as she set up another round of coffee to run through the machine. "Maybe he's on the lam?" she bobbed her eyebrows hopefully, brown eyes sparking with an adventurous gleam.

Della rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure," she said with a snort, pulling her notepad and pen out of her pocket as she approached Fedora.

"My name's Della, can I get you anything to drink?" she asked brightly as she set the menu down in front of him.

"O-Oh, uhm, c-coffee, please. Bl-Black," he stammered, fumbling with the greasy menu before diving behind it. Not before Della caught a glimpse of the heavy purple bruises under his eyes though.

"Been on the road a while, huh?" she asked Fedora sympathetically.

"Wh-What?" he demanded fearfully. "Wh-Why? Why do y-you ask?"

Della blinked, surprised. Whatever Fedora was on, it was either too strong or not strong enough. "You just look tired it all," she tried to explain. He slumped slightly.

"Oh, o-oh right…" He laughed a little madly. "S-Suppose I do."

Della looked at him sideways. If she had to pick a customer in there right now that she would worry about suddenly going crazy and shooting people, it would be Fedora. Maybe that's what was in his briefcase, which was sandwiched between him and the wall with one hand on it protectively.

"I'll get that coffee and be right over," Della said, giving him one last uncertain look before moving off to grab the plates from a couple of tables.

"Well he seems nice and crazy," Nessie observed as she walked past. She handed Della a damp rag and scooped up the dishes as she went. Della went to work scrubbing the tables while Nessie took the dishes back to the kitchen to be cleaned.

Della finished with the tables and tucked the rag into a bucket under the counter before grabbing a clean cup and pouring some black coffee. She carried the cup over to Fedora and set it down beside him.

"Have you decided what you want to eat?" Della asked a little less cheerfully than usual. Something about this guy was putting her on edge. She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was besides his obvious twitchiness. For all she knew he was just some guy getting off a red-eye flight who took a wrong turn, but something told her he wasn't that normal.

"U-Uh…" he stammered, glancing at the menu. "Uh, c-can I get… a short stack… with bacon… and scrambled eggs… and… and a fruit cup? Make that two?"

Della raised an eyebrow as she scribbled down all the food. "Hungry?" she asked wryly. He winced and pressed a hand to his stomach, which gave a loud growl. Della noticed he looked sunken, like he hadn't eaten a decent meal in weeks.

"Y-Yeah I just… busy, you know…" He gave a faltering grin before passing her the menu back and ducking under his hat, pressing closer to his briefcase and the wall.

"Right," Della said before moving to put the order in.

"Wow, Fedora's hungry is he?" Nessie asked drily as she slid her own order in.

"Yeah," Della said, frowning. "Something about him makes me suspicious."

Nessie rolled her eyes. "Come on, Dellie, he's probably just some guy who's been on the road a little too long."

"You know, some people go on the road for less-than-legal reasons," she countered. Nessie laughed.

"I swear, you're getting paranoid."

"Not so much with the paranoid if you don't mind," Della huffed as she grabbed up the rag again and moved to scrub some of the tables. The morning breakfast rush was starting to ease, which meant she had a little free time on her hands while Jimmy got together her orders. Della cleaned three tables and cleared the plates from a fourth before making a round with the coffee pot.

"Short stack, bacon, eggs, two fruit cups," Jimmy called, putting the order in the window. Della grabbed the tray, balancing it carefully while she approached Fedora's table. She dimly registered the bell ring over the door and assumed Nessie would get whoever it was while she served Fedora.

"Pancakes, bacon, and eggs with two fruit cups," Della announced as she began to set down the plates and bowls. Fedora looked at the food happily and his stomach rumbled again. Della softened a little – she was probably being paranoid after all. What could he be involved in, anyway? He looked like somebody's underfed accountant.

"Anything else I can get you?" Della asked him, holding the tray against her thighs. Fedora looked up at her.

"No thank you, I-" His eyes slipped past her over her shoulder and he went pale so fast it was like all the blood had just been drained out of him. Sheer terror filled his face before his eyes flicked to Della.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said faintly. "Run while you can, please," he begged.

Confusion reigned. "Run?" Della asked in disbelief. "I don't…"

Nessie screamed and Della turned around just in time for something to smack into her temple. Her head exploded in stars and she toppled into the booth across from Fedora. Her head cracked against the wall and she moaned, clutching her skull. She could feel wet, sticky blood. Della barely managed to roll onto her back, still sprawled across the booth, to see what had hit her.

A dark-haired man in a suit was holding a handgun, the barrel of which was stained in blood.
Della's head throbbed and her vision swam but she was still present enough to realize he must have hit her.

"Della!" Nessie screamed. Della sucked in a horrified breath as she saw Nessie standing there, green eyes wide with terror, a gun pressed to her temple and a man's meaty arm across her throat.

"Hey, what the-?" That was Jimmy from the back. There was a spray of gunfire. It made Della's head rattle and they heard something heavy fall to the ground with a grunt. They didn't have to see it to know that Jimmy had just been shot.

The kitchen door burst open and in stormed six more men who fanned out across the diner, all holding huge guns. Nessie was sure if she knew anything about weapons she'd probably be really impressed, but all she could get was that they looked like the kind of guns that fired a lot of bullets really fast.

The man with the pistol who'd hit Della spoke. "Everybody, I'm sorry to interrupt your breakfast," he said cheerfully to the shocked-silent diner. "Rest assured, so long as you don't cause any trouble there will be no problems here. My buddies and I just came to catch up with an old friend. Isn't that right, Connors?" he asked jovially, gesturing to Fedora with his gun. He didn't seem to notice Della was still lying there, or, more likely, he simply didn't care.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" demanded one guy. Nessie and Della knew him, he came through about once a week or so. His name was Paul. He had a wife and two twin daughters at home. He showed them a new picture of them every time they saw him.

Paul stood up, and Paul fell right back down in a puddle of his own blood as one of the men with the huge guns blew a hole straight through his head. Nessie screamed and her knees sagged as the strength went out of her legs in fear. The man holding her cursed and dragged her upright again, jamming the gun harder into the side of her face.

"Like I said," Pistol reiterated with a dangerous glint in his smile. "So long as you don't cause trouble."

"Everybody out," roared one of the men. Nobody moved, and a couple of the guys looked ready to stand up and try to take them on. After all, they outnumbered the goons with the guns. Three of the goons raised their guns and let of a hail of bullets into the ceiling. Courage fled and there was a stampede to the door.

"You know what we want," said Pistol.

Fedora – Connors – squared his jaw and looked up at him bravely but terror was still clear on his face.

"Let them go, they've got nothing to do with this," he said, nodding to Della and Nessie. Della dragged herself up into a sitting position, pressing herself close to the wall and looking between the two men fearfully.

"I dunno, I think they do," Pistol said contemplatively. Della felt a bit of blood drip off her jaw and onto her hand. She flinched and Pistol grinned. "You're a good guy, aren't you Connors? I bet if I threatened one of them instead of you…" His gun swung around so that it was pointed at her instead of Connors. Della let out a whimper of fear before she could stop herself.

"Della, Della no!" Nessie screamed, and thrashed in the grip of the man who held her.

Della had never really thought about it but she'd always figured that if she was put into a tough situation she'd be able to hold it together. Della would be able to stay strong and take control of the situation and keep the fear stomped down. That was far from the case. She was choking on her terror, the tears mingling with the blood dripping down one side of her face and falling into her lap, soft sobs escaping no matter how tightly together she pressed her lips.

"N-No please!" Connors said desperately, thrusting out a hand to get Pistol's attention. "Please, do-don't… don't hurt anyone." He lowered his head, shame-faced, accepting.

Pistol smirked confidently. "That's what I thought. You know we've got you, don't you Connors?" he bragged. "You're trapped with nowhere to go and a poor girl's life in your hands. What can you do except hand over your work to me? You're not a fighter, not like Loretta."

Della could see Connors' face under the brim on his fedora. Pistol couldn't. From the moment Pistol started preaching, fear and shame had twisted into something hard and cold and desperate, waiting to be released. She didn't know who Loretta was, but she must have been important to Connors, because when Pistol said her name, rage like Della had never seen lit in his eyes. He looked at Della and Nessie and they saw the apology in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed, before looking up at Pistol. "You're right, I'm not a fighter, not like Loretta."

Pistol's eyes narrowed. He could see the shift in Connors now too. He took a step back as Connors stood up and leveled his gun squarely between the older man's eyes. To his credit, Connors didn't flinch. Della and Nessie watched, awed, as the twitchy man in tweed faced down Pistol.

"But I'm something you're not," Connors said, voice thundering with authority. "I'm a genius. I understand my formula like no one else. Girls, hide!" he roared suddenly, lunging at Pistol. Della squirmed under the table in a desperate attempt to get out of the way. Pistol panicked and so did his men. Nessie was released. She dropped to the ground and threw herself under the table as well.

Bullets flew from every direction. Connors' jolted and trembled as they bored into his head, his torso, his arms, his legs. Bullets thudded into the wall above and around them and they screamed in fear, pressing close to Connors's booth and covering their head with their hands.

An explosion went off right next to their heads. It was pure white light and heat and fire and the smell of burning things and howling wind and everything that was powerful. It threw them sideways. Their bodies cracked against the wall and they knew nothing else.