Mason taking a sip of his soda remarked, “The guy’s probably too busy picking maggots out of his leg to bother me.”
Luke not exactly sharing the grim humor of his compatriot, laughed uncertainly, “Ha ha—uh, yeah—right.”
While they were speaking there had been the distant roar of a football game on the television. Mason and Luke had automatically tuned it out while the rest of the bar was focused on the TV. But then suddenly the roar stopped and Mason looked over to see the words “NBC Breaking News” flash across the screen.
A familiar face—an old news anchor named Chester Holtz then appeared, and with serious demeanor, narrated, “Greetings everyone. We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news…”
Mason couldn’t quite hear the rest of the sentence since it was followed by the howls of several football fans infuriated that the game was being interrupted.
Regardless, Mason focused at the screen and watched as it transitioned from Chester to a scene of utter carnage and chaos. Amid old classical architecture of a downtown European city were scores police and ambulance vehicles. And several screaming patients were being shoved into the back of the ambulances on gurneys.
At the bottom of the screen Mason could then read the words, “Deadly virus attack. Rome under siege. Death toll unknown.”
Mason and Luke both looked at each other as Luke swore in surprise, “Shit!”
The bartender who was hovering nearby somehow misinterpreted Luke’s remark of shock to be one of disdain, and picking up a remote commented, “I know this shit sucks—here let me see if I can change the channel. I think ESPN is covering the game without interruption.”
Mason then surprised the bartender by physically grabbing his arm and telling him, “No! Wait! I want to hear it!”
The bartender shot Mason a stern and angry look but after jerking his arm away he relented, placing the remote back on the bar. To the chagrin of just about everyone else in the room, Mason then grabbed the remote and began turning the volume up so they could hear what was happening.
The reporter on the scene was addressing Chester Holtz, talking directly into the camera, “That’s right Chester—and from what we can tell right now, it does indeed appear that this attack was premediated and a purposeful one. The virus was dispersed over downtown Rome by way of a car bomb—detonated by a still as of yet, unknow assailant. This attack is as insidious as it is malicious, and one which employed one of the worst viral agents known to man—Ebola.”
In disbelief at what he was hearing, Mason looked to Luke and remarked, “Damn! Do you think it’s the same creeps that tried to unleash Ebola in DC?”
Luke sighed, “I don’t know…. It’s possible…”
Mason then practically shouted, “This is terrible, we’ve got to find out.”
At this point the bouncer of the bar took notice, and tapped Mason on the shoulder. When Mason turned around on his barstool the big man with arms the size of tree trunks asked him, “Alright what gives buddy? My bartender just told me you manhandled the remote away from him”
Mason shrugged, “I just wanted to hear the news.”
The bouncer grunted, “What? But the other 99 percent of the bar wants to watch the game—what about them?”
Luke growing uneasy, was seeking to avoid trouble, as he directed Mason, “Come on Mace—just give him back the remote.”
Mason tired of being pushed around muttered, “After the news report sure….”
The bouncer none too pleased then dispensed with all pleasantry as he pointed at the remote and shouted, “Give me the freaking remote! Now!
Mason’s eyes narrowed as a spirit of defiance welled up within him. Did he really just trek through some of the most treacherous jungles of the Amazon to have some lowlife of a bouncer bully him like this? For a split second he considered refusing the meat head’s directive.
But he knew that no good would come of it. Even if he was the victor of the battle that would no doubt ensue, he knew full well that in the aftermath police would be called, reports would be filed, and it just wouldn’t be worth his time. It would also be more fuel to the fire in Oliver Marshal’s efforts to brand him as being a loose cannon.
Taking all of this into consideration, he tried to take the high road instead. And handing the glowering bouncer the remote grunted, “Here ya go chief.”
The bouncer wasn’t through with them yet however, and after taking a look at the soda Mason was drinking and the lack of a beverage at Luke’s command, he found further reason for complaint.
He told them, “Hey uh—Gentlemen. I shouldn’t have to remind you, but this is a bar. It’s not a place to sippy sip on your soda all day and chit chat. I suggest that you either get a real drink or get out of here.”
Being subjected to this kind of harassment, Mason’s blood was just about boiling at this point. But again, knowing that an altercation would just not be worth it in the long run, he steeled himself, as he sarcastically answered, “I’ll try to keep that in mind. Thanks for the tip bud.”
Mason hadn’t done anything to merit the bouncer’s wrath but the utter fearlessness he displayed, irked the musclebound aggressor to no end. And as he clenched both his jaw and his fist, it was obvious that the tough guy did not appreciate the way Mason dismissively called him “bud”.
Mason had played his cards right however, because even though he hadn’t crossed any lines or said anything inflammatory for someone to use against him later, he managed to express just how little he felt about the ogre before him. The man glared at Mason as if he wanted to hit him, but knowing that he didn’t have enough rationale to do so, he simply turned around
