Breaking Creed

61

In another lifetime — pre-Afghanistan — Jason would have enjoyed exchanging punches with these assholes. Most likely they were college boys on summer break with their perfect white teeth and all of their suntanned limbs still in place. Among the four of them there was enough bulk and brawn to cause some serious damage. So maybe he should have let it go when the one who looked like their leader for the night bumped into their table.

The guy was drunk. That was obvious. The place was crowded, wall to wall, standing room only. He probably didn’t mean to knock into them and topple their beer glasses, but Jason was drunk, too, and thought the guy owed them an apology.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” Jason told him.

The guy saw the spilled beer and smirked at him. “Tough break.”

Jason knew the type — the guy probably wasn’t used to anyone telling him what to do. He wore cargo shorts and a crisp new tank top with PENSACOLA BEACH emblazoned across the front. Sunglasses hung from the shirt’s crew neck, and Jason could make out GUCCI on the side. He recognized the designer flip-flops, too. He didn’t know why it made him mad, but it did.

That’s when Jason stood up and shoved him.

Immediately he saw his mistake. The guy had three friends at the bar who saw what had happened and came pushing their way through to his defense. Jason had Colfax and Benny, who stared into their empty beer glasses. They looked completely miserable. He could see that they didn’t want to do this. They probably thought they couldn’t do this. And maybe that was another reason why Jason needed to do this. But tonight Tony wasn’t even here to give them a fighting chance.

“Come on, Mike, don’t bother with those losers.” One of his friends tried coaxing him away.

He didn’t listen to his friend.

“Don’t shove me, asshole.” And he gave Jason a shove.

“You owe us an apology.”

Instead of an apology, Mike pushed him again, this time harder, sending Jason slamming into one of his buddies. Before Jason could regain his balance, he was being shoved back the other way.

Mike was in Jason’s face, about to yell something when he winced suddenly and jerked backward. Ryder Creed had the guy by the back of the neck. He stood several inches taller than Mike and was able to pull him not only back but also up. The grip reminded Jason of the way Creed might hold a dog by the scruff of the neck.

“What the hell?”

“I thought I might join the fun,” Creed said. “Since it was a bit uneven. Four against three.” He let go of the guy and stood between them, glancing around and waiting.

“Nobody grabs me like that, man.”

“Nobody shoves my friends around. So why don’t we call it even and go home.” Creed shifted his weight, and Jason couldn’t believe he thought it was that easy. That it was all over.

Mike’s face had gone crimson, a combination of anger and humiliation. His friends were watching him, ready to move if and when he gave the word. Jason balled up his fist. He could still hit and kick, and he wanted to hit this guy more than ever.

Then Mike made his move. He reached his hand up to shove Creed the same way he had shoved Jason. Only his hand didn’t even make it to Creed’s chest. In less than a second his fingers disappeared in Creed’s palm. Suddenly the guy was on his knees, screaming in pain. Creed had his hand twisted and locked at an unnatural angle. It looked as though one more ounce of pressure and bones would snap.

His friends didn’t move. They stared at him and Creed as if they couldn’t believe what was happening. And all the noise seemed to get sucked out of the room, the vortex starting in the radius surrounding them.

Jason recognized a couple of the bartenders. They separated the crowd for the gray-haired man who was making his way into the inner circle as others backed away. Mike’s scream had been reduced to a whine, then almost a whimper. The old man looked at Creed, and that’s when Creed finally let go.

“That bastard almost broke my hand.”

He held it up for everyone to see. Jason didn’t think it was broken, but it was already starting to swell and turn blue.

Jason glanced over at Colfax and Benny, who looked even more miserable, if that was possible. He couldn’t help noticing that Ryder Creed didn’t look the least bit remorseful, and the old guy seemed to take note of that, too.

“I want the police called.” Still on his knees and cradling his wounded fingers, Mike was still giving orders.

That’s all Jason needed, a police report. The military would never give him a new hand now.

“Did you four come over to buy these veterans a drink and thank them for their service?” the old guy asked, surprising all of them with his casual tone.

“What? What the hell are you talking about, old man? He broke my hand!” Mike pointed at Creed.

“I may look like an old man, son, but I own this establishment. If you’d like to file a police report, you’re welcome to do that. You might want to put some ice on that hand.” He shook his head as he looked at it for the first time. “Probably should be soon. That doesn’t look too good.”

Then he turned to one of the bartenders. “Help these fellas find a place out on the patio, Carl.”

“Wait! You’re kicking us out?”

“Just putting you outside to get some fresh air.”

“But you’re kicking them out, right?” Mike asked.

Jason watched the old man’s eyes go from Creed to Colfax and Benny, and then they stopped at his. Something told Jason the old guy knew he deserved to be thrown out. But then he said something that floored Jason: “Hell no, I’m buying these veterans a round on the house.”