David had been here already. He'd made a trip here before contacting Marco to drop off a backpack with shoes and real clothes so he could fly over from the portkey and yet be dressed like a normal person. It was a dive off the side of a long stretch of highway with a gas station attached to it and no other buildings for a long ways off in any direction. The desert environment wasn't friendly to tall trees either. As a leftover neurosis from his rat days open spaces made him nervous, but tactically it was the right choice. He was expecting a small army as worse case scenario, and this would limit the number of possible ambush spots and hiding places. There would be witnesses...but not too many witnesses. He hadn't told anyone where he was going, just taped a note to the inside of his door explaining things which no one would find for at least a day if he disappeared. But he wasn't stupid. In the backpack next to him was a decent sized handgun in a case. Loaded but safety on. He might not be able to get to it quick enough to do any good if he needed it, but actually having it holstered and on his person might give the impression that he was looking for a reason to use it. He wasn't.
He'd got here early by ten minutes, snagged a corner booth and ordered coffee. The brew was sort of awful so he barely touched it. While he waited he chainsmoked, listened to some DevilDriver on his headphones, and inventoried the diner folk. One waitress, one cook, one couple by the window, and four truckers. Easy to keep track of. He leaned back, watched the door, and focused on keeping his stupid shaky hands from getting any worse.