Part 2The heavy gold medallion hit the concrete with a dull, agonizing clink. The five-pointed star, surrounded by the green enamel laurel wreath, caught the morning sunlight, stark against the dirty gravel of the diner parking lot. My Medal of Honor. The very same medal placed around my neck by the President of the United States thirty years ago.
Connor leaned over, squinting at it. “What is this piece of junk? You buy this at a pawn shop to feel like a big man?” He kicked it with the toe of his boot, scuffing the brass.
Every instinct drilled into me over a thirty-one-year military career screamed at me to neutralize the threat. I could have broken his knee with one swift kick. I could have disarmed Officer Kyle before he even unlatched his holster. But I didn’t. Violence would only give them the excuse they desperately wanted. I am a retired Master Sergeant of the United States Army; I do not break rank, and I do not lose my discipline for a street punk.
I slowly picked up the medal, dusting the dirt off the blue silk ribbon with trembling hands, and placed it safely back into my pocket.
“Oh, look at him, he’s shaking!” Connor laughed, pulling out his smartphone. “Get over here, Kyle. Let’s get a picture with Ridgemont’s resident war hero.”
He grabbed me by the injured shoulder, forcing me down onto the curb. “Sit down, criminal. Look at the camera and smile.”
