Jerry positioned himself directly behind the stranger. He crossed his arms and planted his feet firmly in place. I’d seen this pose a few times before — our little roadside diner wasn’t immune to the occasional troublemaker. I knew from past experience that Jerry was prepared to act more quickly and decisively then many would give him credit for. And I’d never seen anyone tangle with him who didn’t regret it almost immediately.
But I wasn’t so sure about this one.
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” said Jerry.
The stranger spun around on his stool.
“No, it is not that time all,” he said. “As I indicated, it is time for a choice to be made. I will select one from three. You will not be the one.”
“Look, Mister, the only choice you have to make is whether you leave under your own power or you get thrown out. Now which is it going to be?”
For a moment it looked as though the stranger was going to say something, but he didn’t. He spun around on his stool and, ignoring both Sybil and myself, began to study the back counter and wall. Apparently seeing what he was looking for, he gave Jerry a dismissive mechanical wave without even glancing his way. Jerry turned and walked back to the far end of the counter. He then stepped behind it, and took a position approximately where the stranger had been looking. He did not look at Sybil. He drew a large carving knife from the rack next to the cutting board and then walked once again out from behind the counter and took a seat across from me at my booth.
He didn’t look at me. His attention was focused solely on the knife. He gripped the handle firmly with both hands—its point was just below his chin, aimed directly at his own throat.
