“Two cups of coffee to go, please.” Robin ordered, flopping onto the barstool. Taking no notice to the black tar plopped onto the counter in front her, my mom’s focus was intent on a square-inch of fake granite, her eyes twitching left to a scruffy-jawed man, absentmindedly scanning the menu. Turning to Robin, my mom uttered under her breath “That’s him. That’s the guy.” Without further thought to the situation’s outcome, besides capturing the criminal before the two detectives outside were alerted and by their side to help (or hinder), she headed for the door. With a quick trip, and a sloppier unclenching of Styrofoam, coffee splashed violently onto the man’s brown, Eddie Bauer jacket, knocking him to the floor. “Grab him, Robin!” She yelled, regaining her footing. Robin, unaware of the plan my mom had concocted in her head, launched forward to help, whipping the handcuffs out from behind her back, and slapping them onto the felon’s wrists. Dragging the apprehended