Lunch at the Bistro

Behind the counter, the cashier held onto the edge of the register to steady herself.

"It was a customer, Lieutenant," she stammered, pointing toward the floor. "A guy in a charcoal suit. When the first robber pulled a knife on a girl by the coolers, he came in from the sidewalk, took him down, and broke several beer bottles over his head."

Lola Grant looked down at the first suspect groaning in the mess of beer and broken glass, then glanced at the man lying unconscious beside him.

"Bottles explain the first one," Lola said, frowning. "What about the second one? What did he hit him with to break every bone in his hand?"

The cashier swallowed hard. "He didn't use a tool, Lieutenant. The big guy threw a punch, and the man in the suit caught it with his bare hand and squeezed."

"Caught it and squeezed?" Lola repeated, skeptical. "You're telling me someone crushed his hand with their bare fingers?"