Chapter 7 - The Voice from the Back Room
"Betty! Don't let him talk to them! He’s the one who signed the second set of papers!"
The frantic shout came from the dark doorway of the diner's kitchen, echoing off the grease-stained walls and freezing everyone in their tracks. A middle-aged woman with wild, graying hair and a soot-stained coat stumbled out of the shadows, clutching a thick manila folder to her chest like a shield. Her face was pale, slick with nervous sweat, and her eyes darted frantically between Deputy Miller and the towering figure of Jax standing by the booth.
Deputy Miller’s face drained of color in an instant, his casual, arrogant demeanor shattering into pure, unadulterated panic. "Clara... you stupid old woman, you were supposed to be out of state by nightfall."
"I couldn't leave without making it right, Tom!" Clara yelled back, her voice cracking with a mixture of terror and fierce defiance. She held up the manila folder, the edges bulging with faded documents and legal seals. "I’m not taking the fall for what you and the adoption board pulled back in fifteen! You forged those signatures while he was still unconscious on life support!"
Jax didn't wait for another word. He vaulted over the back of the vinyl booth with terrifying speed, clearing the table in a single bound and hitting the floor running toward the counter.
Deputy Miller reacted with the frantic desperation of a cornered animal. He whipped his hand down, unlapspping the strap of his holster and drawing his service pistol with practiced speed, leveling the black barrel straight at Jax’s chest. "Stop right there, Jax! Federal obstruction! I will drop you right here!"
"Try it," Jax snarled, his eyes locked on the gun barrel without a flicker of fear.
Before the deputy could squeeze the trigger, Betty lunged from behind the counter with the speed of a striking cobra. She swung the heavy wooden baseball bat with all her might, catching Miller squarely across the forearm. The pistol discharged with a deafening roar, the bullet blasting a massive hole through the acoustic ceiling tiles and showering the diner in a storm of white plaster dust.
The deputy screamed in pain as the bat connected a second time, sending his service weapon clattering across the checkerboard floor toward the back booths where little Leo was hiding.
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Leo flinched at the deafening explosion of the gunshot, pulling his knees up to his chest beneath the table. His little hands reached out blindly in the dark, his fingers brushing against something cold and metallic that had skidded across the floorboards. He looked down and froze, his big hazel eyes widening in absolute horror as his fingers wrapped around the checkered grip of the fallen police pistol.
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