Barley blew on his coffee and said, “It’s eight in the morning. We got somewhere to be. So skip dessert.”

“Plenty of time,” Kid Cub said, sliding his plate of half-eaten pancakes towards the edge of the table.

“You wanted to graduate to big boy jobs? I’m supposed to be looking out for you, is what ma said. So skip dessert.”

Kid Cub signaled the waitress over and told her he’s ready for dessert. She asked if there’s something wrong with the blueberry pancakes.

“Not at all,” Kid Cub said. “I’m just ready for dessert.”

The waitress said she’d have to check with the chef, see if they have any dessert ready. She took his plate and walked away.

“You believe this?” Kid Cub said.

“Told you it’s too early,” Barley said. “Now let’s go over the route again.”

Eyes on the waitress’ ass, Kid Cub said, “No reason to. I got it down.” He drummed his fingers on the laminate tabletop. “This bitch is acting funny.”

“Hell you talking about?”

“All I want is dessert and she acts funny. Like I’m some piece of trash.”

“She’s just doing her job, hot shot. Now let’s go over the route. For my sake.”

The waitress came back with the doggie bag and said, “Gonna be a little while on the dessert. Chef just took the pies out of the oven.”

Kid Cub leaned back in his seat and said, “Bet you can’t guess how much money I have in my boot.”

“Cub, don’t,” Barley said. The waitress laughed nervously.

“You know how much money I have in my boot? Enough to buy half this piss ant town. And by the end of the day, I’ll have enough to buy the other half.”

“Excuse my cousin, ma’am.” Barley reached for his wallet.

“So why don’t you cut me a goddamn piece of pie.”

“He’s gonna skip the pie,” Barley held two tens towards the waitress. An uneasy expression on her face, she reached for the bills.

Kid Cub’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “Nuh-uh,” he said. “She’s gonna cut me a slice of pie. Apple. And if there’s no apple…” His eyes drifted down to her chest, then lower. “A slice of that will do.”

She tugged her wrist away and headed towards the kitchen.

“Son of a bitch,” Barley said. “Today of all days you gotta be an asshole.”

“Something with this waitress, I’m telling you.”

“Ain’t even done the job yet and you’re acting like a paranoid dickhead. Let’s just dust before she calls the goddamn cops.”

“Who’s calling the cops?” Kid Cub stood up, eyes still on the waitress, who was at the counter pouring coffee into a couple mugs. “That bitch calling the cops?” He reached under his jacket and pulled a snubnosed revolver out of his waistband. “Nobody’s calling the cops.”

The waitress turned and Kid Cub thumbed the hammer back. She screamed and threw her hands up, sending the mugs shattering on the floor. Coffee splattered on Kid Cub’s boots.

Kid Cub laughed and looked back at Barley. “Guess it’s time we dropped the Kid from my name, huh?”

The waitress turned and took the stainless steel coffee carafe off the counter. She took one step forward and cracked it over the side of Kid Cub’s skull. It sounded like an aluminum bat hitting cement.

Kid Club crumbled to the floor. Blood trickled out of an abrasion above his ear. The waitress said, “Did I kill him?”

Barley leaned over it his cousin’s body. He said, “Naw, but he’ll be out for while.”

“He your little brother?”

“Cousin, but I’m embarrassed to admit he’s blood to any degree. He could never be chill about nothing.” Barley held the two tens out to her again. She took them and fished in his wallet for a couple more bills. He handed them to her and said, “Do me a favor, will you? Wait a few minutes before you call the cops. And get that gun away from him. He’s liable to hurt himself.”

The bell above the diner’s door dinged as Barley left. He had time to find a replacement driver before the job.