In His Sights

Probably talking about the latest model of muscle car to hit the market. Mason’s best chance at action was at home with his hand. He remained caught in his stare across the room when he noticed the two guys still standing at the bar turn toward their friends, their bodies tense. The hair on the back of Mason’s neck stood on edge. Something was about to go down, and it wasn’t an orgy. Mason sat there for a few more seconds as the two guys talking at the back table headed back over to the bar. They all stood tall, their bodies posed to show off their muscles.
Mason’s gut twisted. Not having a clear idea of what was happening, Mason stood down, thinking perhaps he imagined the tension. That’s when the talking between the men increased in volume.
Mr. Crew Cut, still at his table, stood up.
It wasn’t long before the curses, which sounded to be aimed at the guy that was alone, echoed throughout the room. The bartender hustled over to where the four guys stood.
Mason held his breath. Then before he could register what transpired, the four guys, and the other, headed for the door. All five expressions told of the upcoming war. Four against one was never fair, even when the one looked as if he could take down the others single-handedly.
Never leave a man behind, regardless of which branch they fought. Not having another choice, Mason got up and met the group as they reached the entrance.
His chest puffed out, Mason spoke in his most authoritative voice. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“You need to get out of here.”
Mason wasn’t sure which one of the four had spoken, as they suddenly all looked the same. Big and stupid.
“I don’t think I can do that,” Mason said, focused on staring down the guy he’d decided was the leader. Mason hadn’t had a chance to witness the single guy’s reaction to his coming over. “If you’re going to head outside with him, I’m going to have to come along. And trust me, things won’t be pretty.”
Mason watched as three of the guys turned, ready to continue their walk of the condemned; the fourth hadn’t moved, and a frown marred his face.
Shit. Mason pulled out his wallet, opened it, and held up his badge. Maybe there wouldn’t be a fight in his future after all. “Really think this is a bad idea.”
All five guys stared, their eyes locked on the piece of metal that had gotten Mason out of a lot worse. The four amigos, who’d had so much to say moments ago, seemed to lose their voices. Mason half expected them to simply turn and walk away.
Then one of the guys found his balls. He glared at Mr. Military and said, “You’re lucky your friend here bailed you out. Would’ve ended you.”
Mr. Military stood up taller. “He’s not my friend. I’ll be happy to head outside right along with you,” the jackass said.
“Get the hell out of here. Now,” Mason reiterated. “Before I call in backup.” They hadn’t needed to know the kind of backup Mason had wouldn’t show up for a fight at a bar. Well, they would if it was one of their own involved. But in this instance, where Mason had made himself part of the incident, he wouldn’t ask them. Taking a cursory gander at the guy he’d be fighting alongside, he was sure he wouldn’t have to call for backup anyway.
The goons left without another word to Mason. Too busy bitching to each other on their walk down the concourse.
Mason turned around for his first real look at the guy he’d just saved. His stare met a pair of dark green eyes that seemed to be looking right through him. They also seemed to be familiar.
“Are you kidding me?” Mason asked at the same time Mr. Military said, “Why don’t you stay the hell out of other people’s business?”
“Are you kidding me?” Mason repeated, and this time when he said it the guy—Navy, as Mason used to call him—stayed quiet.