Page 2 of Chasing Amanda

“Did you want another one?” she asked Mark.

“Sure.”

She walked toward the bar, keeping at least two tables between herself and those men. On her way, she stopped near the front door and whispered in the bouncer’s ear, pointing out the two yahoos.

The bouncer shoved his way through the crowd and escorted them outside.

The waitress hadn’t needed Mark’s help after all.

“…to Iraq, which was his plan all along,” the professor said. “That’s why they didn’t stop the attack. Any excuse to get Saddam.”

Mark glared at Justin. “Seriously? I’m here for three days, and I have to put up with this guy?”

His friend leaned in. “He wanted to meet you.” He lowered his voice. “I didn’t realize… He’s not usually like this.”

Mark didn’t bother to whisper. “Meaning he’s usually a sober anti-American conspiracy theorist?”

“I work for him. What was I supposed to say?”

“‘We have plans’ would’ve worked.”

“Just ignore him.” But when the professor started in again, Justin interrupted. “Let’s change the subject. Mark’s had enough.”

The professor hiccupped. “Have I offended the bellicose combatant?” He slurred his insult. “Ought I to be afraid?”

“Hey.” Justin lost the placating tone. “He’s my friend. Knock it off.”

Mark rarely had trouble keeping his temper under control, but this guy was pushing it. A distraction…any distraction would work.

“Don’t worry,” the professor whispered, though Mark doubted he was trying not to be heard. “He doesn’t understand what I said.”

And…that was it.

Mark dropped his chair legs back to the floor with a thump that had the two sycophants jumping. “I’m a Marine, so I must be an idiot, right?”

The professor shrugged, not bothering to hide his smile.

“What do you teach, professor?”

“Literature. I prefer British, but I dabble in French and American, when I must.”

“You think understanding Shakespeare makes you qualified to discuss Middle Eastern politics?”

Before he could answer, Justin jumped in. “Mark studied”—he glanced at him—“Middle Eastern history, right?”

The professor’s eyebrows rose. “Community college?”

“Arabic language and culture at the Naval Academy.”

“Ah. Easier to kill them when you understand them.”

Mark leaned across the table toward the little man, whose eyes widened, his mouth opening in a little O. He backed away the tiniest bit, proving that even drunk, he was smart enough to be nervous.

“I believe like Shakespeare believed. ‘A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser.’”

The professor straightened. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. If not for all the liquor, he would’ve had a ready answer. It wasn’t as if there weren’t reasonable voices on the other side of the argument.

Losing his patience, Mark turned to the other grad students at the table. “History has proved that you don’t get to peace unless you show your enemy you’re willing to fight for it—and that you can win. The opposite of war isn’t always peace. Often, it’s oppression or slavery. Just ask any of the six million Jews who went peacefully to concentration camps.”