The plaintive request isn't something L wants to ignore. He's always been patient with the boy, even when it's difficult and frustrating. "Just wait," he repeats, leaving the office and making his way toward the front of the store, emerging behind the counter to investigate the source of the unrest that had caused the normally-dutiful Anthony to retreat from his post at the cash register.
He reaches the cash register and wraps a hand around the ice staff tucked into the corner beside it, suspiciously eyeing the group of five that had entered the store. All men, all large, all posturing like they are here to cause trouble.
"I don't want to jump to conclusions, but if you're here for any reason other than to get a cup of coffee, you need to leave."
A man's jaw tenses as he strides toward the counter, pulling out a pistol and pointing it right at L's face. The detective's eyes go wide, but only because the man looks horribly like Moises. He blinks, and the illusion dissipates.
"You Numbered think you can threaten and intimidate until we all just fall in line? Where's the zombie?" The man demands, his thumb removing the gun's safety with a sinister snick.
"Not here. He's not here," L says, raising his voice, hoping that Anthony will hear and take cover somewhere safe, go to the teleporter in the basement and flee to Vegas to make the words true.
The others are pushing past the swinging door leading behind the counter, and when L takes a step toward them, the gun goes off, shattering the mirror behind the counter.
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He reaches the cash register and wraps a hand around the ice staff tucked into the corner beside it, suspiciously eyeing the group of five that had entered the store. All men, all large, all posturing like they are here to cause trouble.
"I don't want to jump to conclusions, but if you're here for any reason other than to get a cup of coffee, you need to leave."
A man's jaw tenses as he strides toward the counter, pulling out a pistol and pointing it right at L's face. The detective's eyes go wide, but only because the man looks horribly like Moises. He blinks, and the illusion dissipates.
"You Numbered think you can threaten and intimidate until we all just fall in line? Where's the zombie?" The man demands, his thumb removing the gun's safety with a sinister snick.
"Not here. He's not here," L says, raising his voice, hoping that Anthony will hear and take cover somewhere safe, go to the teleporter in the basement and flee to Vegas to make the words true.
The others are pushing past the swinging door leading behind the counter, and when L takes a step toward them, the gun goes off, shattering the mirror behind the counter.
"Don't move," the man snarls. "We'll get him."
L draws a deep breath. "Anthony, RUN!"