Peter gave a weak smile.
"Nice meeting you."
"Wish it were under better circumstances."
"Me too."
Gabriel glanced at the injury.
The bleeding was serious enough to require immediate attention, but Peter was breathing normally and responding coherently.
"Help's coming," Gabriel said.
Peter looked toward Trevor.
"That kid shot me?"
Trevor began crying.
"I'm sorry."
Peter closed his eyes.
"Jesus."
Nobody tried to comfort Trevor.
Not yet.
The wounded man deserved everyone's attention.
Evelyn pressed a clean dressing against Peter's arm while Gabriel helped her follow the emergency dispatcher's instructions.
The ambulance was eight minutes away.
Eight minutes could feel like an eternity when someone was bleeding on the floor.
Dylan stood near the counter.
He was shaking so badly that his teeth clicked together.
Owen watched him from several feet away.
"Sit down."
Dylan obeyed.
Trevor sank into another chair.
For the first time, the two young men looked exactly as young as they were.
Not dangerous criminals from a television show.
Not hardened robbers.
Just frightened people who had made a catastrophic decision.
That did not make them innocent.
It made the damage they had caused feel even more senseless.
Evelyn looked toward Dylan.
"Why?"
He raised his head.
"What?"
"Why would you do this?"
Dylan tried to answer.
His throat closed.
Evelyn stared at him.
"This is my home. I've worked here sixteen years. That man came to deliver a part. He didn't do anything to you."
Dylan looked toward Peter.
"I'm sorry."
Evelyn's eyes filled with tears.
"Sorry doesn't take a bullet out of somebody's arm."
He lowered his head.
She turned away.
Gabriel heard the exchange.
He had been angry when the men entered.
Now he felt something colder and heavier.
He had met people like Dylan before.
People trapped by debt, humiliation, pride, and fear.
Some eventually asked for help.
Others made reckless choices because they believed desperation excused anything.
Gabriel had never believed that.
Pain might explain behavior.
It did not erase responsibility.
The ambulance arrived at 12:19 a.m.
Paramedics entered carrying medical equipment.
They assessed Peter, stabilized his injury, and prepared him for transport.
A sheriff's deputy followed them through the door.
She was a tall woman in her early forties named Andrea Mills.
Her hand remained near her holstered weapon as she surveyed the room.
"Everybody stay where you are."
Gabriel slowly raised both hands.
"The weapons are on the counter. Neither suspect is holding one."
Andrea looked toward the two young men.
"Are those the suspects?"
"Yes."
She called for backup.
Another deputy entered moments later.
Dylan and Trevor were handcuffed separately.
Neither resisted.
Andrea began asking questions while the paramedics prepared to leave.
Peter was pale but still conscious.
As they lifted him onto the stretcher, he looked toward Trevor.
The teenager could barely meet his eyes.
Peter spoke quietly.
"Kid."
Trevor looked up.
Peter struggled to find the words.
"Whatever made you think this was a good idea, don't ever believe it again."
Trevor's face crumpled.
The paramedics wheeled Peter outside.
The ambulance doors closed.
Red emergency lights swept across the diner windows.
Then the vehicle departed toward the county hospital.
Andrea turned back toward Gabriel.
"All right. Start from the beginning."
Gabriel explained what happened.
He described the pickup.
The guns.
The demands.
The moment the delivery driver entered.
The accidental discharge.
Andrea listened carefully.
Then she asked, "Anybody else injured?"
Evelyn shook her head.
"Not physically."
Andrea looked at her with understanding.
"That's important too."
She requested medical assistance for anyone experiencing serious distress and began organizing witness statements.
Meanwhile, Dylan sat near the back wall.
He watched investigators photograph the scattered money, damaged window, and bloodstained tiles.
Each photograph made the consequences of his choices feel more permanent.
Trevor sat several feet away.
He was crying quietly.
Dylan wanted to apologize to him.
He wanted to explain that he hadn't expected this.
But the words felt obscene.
He had invited Trevor.
He had chosen the diner.
He had provided the plan.
And now an innocent man might lose his life.
Gabriel approached Andrea.
"There's something you should know."
She turned.
"What?"
"Those boys didn't look like they wanted to be here."
Andrea frowned.
"That doesn't change what happened."
"I know."
"Then what are you telling me?"
Gabriel glanced toward Dylan.
"I think somebody pushed them into this."
Andrea followed his gaze.
"Why?"
"Because the older one looked at his phone before they came in. I saw the screen light up through the window. He looked terrified."
Andrea considered the information.
"Do you know who contacted him?"
"No."
"Then we'll check."
Gabriel nodded.
As he turned away, Dylan suddenly spoke.
"Raymond."
Andrea looked toward him.
"What?"
Dylan stared at the floor.
"His name is Raymond Voss."
The deputy approached.
"Who is Raymond Voss?"
Dylan swallowed.
"The man who told me I'd better find the money."
Andrea pulled out her notebook.
"Did he tell you to rob this diner?"
Dylan hesitated.
He remembered Raymond's face.
The threats.
His sister's address.
The terrible certainty that the man would hurt someone if challenged.
Gabriel watched him carefully.
"Tell the truth," he said.
Dylan looked up.
For one moment, he appeared ready to speak.
Then his phone began ringing inside the evidence bag on the counter.
Andrea looked toward it.
The screen showed a caller's name.
RAYMOND.
And beneath the name was a message preview.
You have five minutes. Don't disappoint me.
Raymond Voss had built his reputation on appearing respectable.
He drove an expensive pickup, wore tailored jackets, and owned several commercial properties across the county.
At charity auctions, he donated generously.
At business meetings, he spoke about community investment and personal responsibility.
Few people outside his circle knew how much of his wealth came from exploiting desperate borrowers.
He operated through a company called Voss Financial Services.
The name sounded legitimate.
Its office looked professional.
Its printed loan agreements contained complicated language that most customers barely understood.
But behind the paperwork was a collection of informal demands, intimidating phone calls, and threats disguised as business negotiations.
Raymond didn't need to raise his voice often.
His reputation did the work for him.
Earlier that evening, he had met Dylan behind an abandoned gas station.
Trevor waited inside the pickup while Raymond spoke.
"You're running out of time."
Dylan stared at the ground.
"I can get you some money next week."
"That's what you said last week."
"I'm waiting on a job."
Raymond smiled coldly.
"Then perhaps you're in the wrong line of work."
Dylan looked up.
"What do you want me to do?"
Raymond turned toward the highway.
"People leave cash lying around in the strangest places."
Dylan frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Raymond mentioned the Copper Moon Diner.
He knew Evelyn often waited until Monday morning to deposit the weekend's cash because the nearest bank branch had reduced its hours.
He knew the restaurant occasionally hosted late-night gatherings.
And he believed the staff would be too frightened to resist a robbery.
He did not explicitly describe every detail of the crime.
He didn't have to.
Dylan understood the suggestion.
When Dylan protested, Raymond mentioned his sister.
"Nice young woman. Works at a pharmacy, doesn't she?"
Dylan went cold.
"Leave her out of this."
Raymond smiled.
"Then do something useful."
Now, just after midnight, Raymond stood in his office staring at a silent phone.
Dylan wasn't answering.
Neither was Trevor.
Raymond called again.
Nothing.
He walked toward the window.
Beyond the parking lot, his employees' vehicles stood beneath the security lights.
His business appeared perfectly ordinary.
But Raymond had a problem.
The two young men had been missing longer than expected.
He turned on a police scanner application.
The first report mentioned an armed robbery.
Then a shooting.
Then the Copper Moon Diner.
Raymond swore.
He had wanted money.
Not headlines.
Not investigators.
And certainly not a wounded civilian.
He opened his laptop and checked a map.
The diner was twenty-seven miles away.
He considered driving there.
Then decided against it.
Police would already be present.
He needed to know what Dylan had said.
Raymond called another number.
A man answered sleepily.