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“Not the Russians. They’ve been hitting them harder than us, goin’ after their drugs.”
“Has to be someone inside.” I make the comment more to myself than to Jonathan, but he still perks up.
“How you figure?”
“Someone is skimming,” I tell him. “Rinaldo asked me to look into it. If someone is skimming, and someone is also tipping off the gangs about our business, it has to be the same person.”
“Makes sense.”
“Also explains why they’d go straight for us,” I say. “If they have someone on the inside, they get that invincible feeling.”
“I think you fixed that.”
“For now, maybe. It didn’t get all our merchandise returned.”
We drop the business talk in public, finish our drinks, and decide to get another round. I refuse to deal with the bartender again, so Jonathan goes up to get fresh ones. I stare at the television screen just long enough to know that Ohio State is playing Wichita and that Ohio is up three points.
“I told the blonde you were shy.” Jonathan makes his announcement as he drops back down in his seat. “I bet she comes over here after another shot or two.”
“Great.” I don’t hide my sarcasm.
The game is interrupted by a brief news report of military activity in the Middle East. The image of a reporter standing near a group of tan buildings surrounded by sand appears on the screen. I grip my beer bottle a little tighter as I hear the sound of artillery in the background.
“…don’t know why those idiots don’t just take the fuckers out and be done with it.”
The college professor guy behind Jonathan is running his mouth about the war from the other side of a dividing wall, and I’m trying hard not to listen. I tap my fingers against the tabletop and clench my teeth until the news report ends, and we’re returned to the program already in progress.
“If our military had any idea what they were doing…”
“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” With a snarl, Jonathan suddenly turns to the guy. “Talk about a subjec
t where you aren’t totally ignorant—maybe jacking off to pictures of your mom.”
“Kiss my ass,” the professor replies. He flips his middle finger at Jonathan before turning back to his friends.
Jonathan grabs his drink and takes a long draw.
“Mother jokes?” I roll my eyes at Jonathan. “Really?”
“First thing that came to mind.” He slams the bottle back on the table. “Can’t stand motherfuckers who spout shit out of their mouths without havin’ a fuckin’ clue.”
I know what he’s doing. Jonathan has always had my back when it comes to my military past. He knows a lot more of the details than most people. I stay out of political discussions as much as possible. People who haven’t been there don’t know what it’s really like, and I’m not here to educate them on the subject.
As the group behind us orders another pitcher, the professor starts going on again. I try to ignore his words, but the more he drinks, the louder he gets. Even the guy’s companions are fidgeting in their seats a little.
Jonathan glances at me repeatedly, and I try to ignore that as well. He can be a bit of a hothead when it comes to certain subjects, but I’m not one for this type of confrontation. The professor can have his misguided beliefs if he wants.
Jonathan, however, feels the need to set him straight.
“Maybe if I dropped you in the middle of all that shit, you’d get your head out of your ass!” he yells across the divider.
“It’s your kind of attitude that keeps that war alive!” the professor yells back.
“It’s dickheads like you that get their fucking faces pounded in for being stupid!”
“What makes you the fucking expert?”
They continue back and forth until I feel as if the vein in my temple is going to rupture. I just want them both to shut the fuck up. The two of them are shouting over the divider between the tables. Eventually, I can’t take any more.
