Too calm.
Too direct.
Rain on his shoulders.
Head down.
I scanned the room.
Back exit behind the pool table.
Kitchen door left.
Two off-duty Marines near jukebox.
Bartender alone.
Civilian couple arguing by restrooms.
No obvious second man inside.
But the pickup driver remained.
Bad.
“Maddox,” I said softly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Your three Marines. Back hallway. Now. Quiet.”
Mason barked a laugh, but it came out wrong.
“What?”
Maddox moved immediately.
“Reed. Alvarez. Pike. On me.”
The three younger Marines stood because training beat confusion.
Mason did not.
“This is insane.”
I looked at him.
“I said quiet.”
Maybe it was the tone.
Maybe it was Maddox obeying.
Maybe it was the way the man in the gray hoodie opened the front door and did not glance at the bar, the TV, the bartender, or the restroom sign.
Only at me.
Mason finally shut his mouth.
The man shook rain off his hood.
