A shadow slunk over the diner, and then another: big, black helicopters that were most definitely not flying ambulances or traffic surveillance. These things were military right down to the machine guns mounted at their sides and they weren’t going on their merry way, off to some distant army base. They slowed down until they were hovering over the parking lot, then spun slowly so their blunt noses were pointed right at the diner, rotor blades spinning lazily.
Back exit, Riley thought, slipping into survival mode without a hitch.
He didn’t give a damn whether the helicopters were there for McClane or some other reason. His gut told him to get the hell out, so that’s what he did.
TWENTY-SIX
He could come back later for his truck if it turned out he’d overreacted.
He snatched up his hat from the bench and put it on, slid out of the booth smoothly. He doubted the pilots could see into Dotty’s Diner well enough to spot him. Outside, the bright sunlight was glinting off glass and metal, whereas the room inside was comparatively dim. The huge windowpane that made up most of the diner’s front was unwashed and greasy. Also, the dusty gusts of wind that made El Paso such a good place for eye infections were whipping up dirt and dust and obscuring the view.
The currents produced by the rotor blades wouldn’t help.
“No more coffee for me,” Riley told the waitress as he marched past her and the gaping customers toward the restrooms. She barely nodded in acknowledgment, which suited him just fine.
The corridor in the back was a dead end with restrooms to the right and the Staff Only access to the kitchen to the left. Wouldn’t want to make it too easy for your customers to skip out without paying. Riley hadn’t expected any different, but he still checked the restrooms to see if he could squeeze through a window. No such luck. Kitchen it was.
The cook and his helpers were all but crawling through the serving hatch trying to watch the entertainment out front, three white-clad asses the only thing that greeted Riley when he slipped into the room. The noise from outside vibrated through the whole diner, swallowing the sound of Riley’s boots clacking on the dirty tile floor. The kitchen was narrow and crammed, though at least comparatively clean. The smell of coffee and grease pervaded the air. Something was starting to burn on one of the stovetops, probably Riley’s breakfast. He didn’t stop to check, hurried toward the back exit half hidden in the shadow of a huge freezer. There was a sign on it that said not to open except in case of emergency. Riley half expected an alarm to shrill when he pulled on the handle anyway, but the connection had been disabled. He figured it had gotten tedious to follow protocol every time someone took out the trash.
Gotta love human nature, McClane mused.