Brad watched this display of unsolicited humanity with growing irritation. It offended his sensibilities. In his world, you called an ambulance and let the paid professionals handle it. You didn’t get your hands dirty. You certainly didn’t stop a whole convoy of traffic for someone who couldn’t even manage a crosswalk.
“Look, he just fell!” Brad called out, taking a step forward. He needed to control the narrative. He needed to make sure these thugs knew he wasn’t at fault. “He stepped right into my path! I had the right of way! My pace was locked in!”
Bear slowly turned his head. He didn’t stand up. He just looked over his shoulder, from his kneeling position next to Arthur, and fixed his gaze on Brad.
The silence that fell over the intersection was heavier than the noise of the engines. The other bikers stopped what they were doing. They all turned to look at the man in the neon spandex.
Brad felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. The arrogant sneer on his face faltered.
Bear stood up. He rose like a mountain shifting its weight. He wiped a smudge of dirt from his jeans and began to walk toward Brad. His steps were slow, deliberate, heavy. The heavy chains on his leather boots clinked against the asphalt.
“You had the right of way,” Bear repeated. His voice was no longer gentle. It was the low growl of an approaching predator.
Brad swallowed hard, but his corporate pride wouldn’t let him back down. He was a Vice President of Acquisitions. He fired men twice his age before his morning espresso. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by a grease monkey.
“That’s right,” Brad said, puffing out his chest again. “I’m training for the elite division of the regional marathon. I can’t just stop every time some… some senior citizen decides to wander blindly into the street. It’s called situational awareness. He lacks it. It’s Darwinism, frankly.”
Bear stopped two feet away from Brad. The size difference was comical, but the shift in power was absolute. Brad suddenly realized that his meticulously sculpted gym muscles were entirely useless against a man built by decades of hard labor and road miles.
“Darwinism,” Bear said, tasting the word like it was something rotten. “You think because your daddy bought you a fancy watch and a membership to a climate-controlled gym, you’re the apex predator?”
“I earned everything I have!” Brad snapped, his voice pitching an octave higher than he intended. “I work eighty hours a week! I pay the taxes that pave these roads you’re currently loitering on! I am a contributing member of society! That guy?” Brad pointed a dismissive finger at Arthur. “He’s a liability.”
The air pressure in the intersection seemed to drop. Several of the bikers behind Bear took a menacing step forward, their hands resting on heavy belt buckles or the hilts of thick folding knives clipped to their pockets.
Bear held up a single hand. The bikers stopped instantly.
“A liability,” Bear murmured. He looked back at Arthur, who was now being carefully stabilized by the biker with the first aid kit. Sirens could finally be heard wailing in the distance.
“That man,” Bear said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “is wearing a pin on his lapel. 101st Airborne. He probably jumped out of airplanes into the dark while your grandfather was still figuring out how to tie his own shoes. He built the world you’re currently jogging through, you spoiled little prick.”
Brad crossed his arms defensively. “I respect the military. But that doesn’t excuse jaywalking. And it doesn’t excuse you animals blocking traffic. The police are coming. You’re all going to be cited.”
“The police are coming for him,” Bear said, nodding toward Arthur. “To help him. Because you couldn’t be bothered. Because you knocked a fragile old man into the dirt, laughed at him, and jogged in place like a damn circus clown.”
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