The chimes jangled and the door closed, sucking all the air from in the diner outside. Al blinked, then tossed the cast iron pan he found himself, stupidly, still holding. Trying to get up sat him down again, his hand coming away from his side bloody.
He wadded up his apron and crawled out from the kitchen to behind the counter.
Freddy’s empty eyes caught his.
“You dumb bastard,” Al said, sliding over and taking the front man’s head in his lap. “Getting yourself killed over a lousy thirty bucks.”
He coughed and winced and couldn’t find his goddamn cigarettes.