I’m in my Crown Vic. Across the street, they’re in a greasy spoon I’d staked out for hours.

He is a student from the East, arts – clean record, but the dirt shows he isn’t on any fast-track. He’s on a long winding road, and when he finds out where he’s going, he’ll already be there.

She is a teacher, Midwest. A family, steady paycheck – drives a minivan. Listens to books on CD. Hangs something from her rear-view mirror – but the photos were blurry.

So why were they in an LA diner at 3AM?

I miked the booth after intercepting the call. I’m following this case to the end. Three dead scientists and ten kilos of plutonium were out there somewhere. I can’t tell the Feds – I’d have to tell how I know.

Hard to say your future self walked in, told you, and died.

They order – he has pizza and Coke, she wants meat loaf and iced tea. Just as the server walks off, they whisper.

Her. “April Raines brings…”
Him. “…the Apocalypse.”

Bingo. I get out, my .45 in my hand. This is the end of the line.