Shiloh knew the diner well. The people who ate here were much less likely to recognize him from the news stories. Not that news seemed to travel so far west as Repose. His family had summered here when he was child, so much so that the lakeside road was named after their vast property here, but the Fairchilds made no friends in the local community, and the children had not been allowed to fraternize with other youth in the area. It also helped that the criminal being sought was one Joseph Fairchild, not Shiloh Foster. But this diner was still a much safer bet than the town's alternately pristine one. The people who ate here kept their heads down, wanting as little attention from law enforcement as Shiloh himself did.
He looked around as he entered, his pupils dilated and his nose runny, and he sought out the most garish person he could find. Ah, yes, him. In the red. And he walked over with a curl shoulder laziness and confidently cocky grin, one quite reminiscent of the man he'd been on the train. He was young, tall, all bones and sharp angles, and there was rather a lot of jitter in him as he slid onto the booth across from the fallen angel in red. He was also a rather keen observer, and he took his time looking over the other man, young man, inhaling first impressions that would lodge and remain until potentially dislodged in future. "You're younger than I expected. I think that a compliment, so do please take it as one." And to the arriving waitress, who he knew well. "Black, Sweetheart."