“Hey, why’d we stop?” Cody yelled from the back. “Arthur unbuckled his seatbelt. He picked up the PA microphone. “I need the gentleman in the black sweatshirt to step away from the young lady and take his seat.” Arthur’s voice echoed through the bus speakers. It was utterly devoid of emotion. It sounded like an automated warning system right before a detonation.
Trent turned his head staring down the long illuminated aisle of the bus at the back of the driver’s head. He let go of the girl’s seat and stepped fully into the center aisle. He cracked his knuckles, a broad menacing smile spreading across his face. This was exactly what he wanted, an audience, a confrontation, a chance to impose his will. “Are you talking to me, driver?” Trent shouted, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. “Because it sounds like you’re giving me an order. And I don’t take orders from guys who drive a bus for a living.”
Trent began to walk down the aisle. He moved with the practiced balanced steps of a martial artist closing the distance in the cage. He was visualizing the assault, a quick step in, a collar tie, maybe a heavy knee to the sternum to wind the old man, followed by a hip toss to the floor. He’d humiliate him, leave him bruised, and walk off the bus a local legend. “Trent, leave it, man. Let’s just get home.” Liam muttered from the back, suddenly feeling a strange shift in the atmosphere. “Shut up.” Trent snapped without looking back. He stopped just behind the yellow line directly behind Arthur’s seat. Arthur remained seated, his back to Trent.
He slowly reached up and turned off the interior lights of the bus, leaving only the dim amber glow of the dashboard and the swirling white snow in the headlights. The sudden darkness changed the environment instantly. It went from a public transit vehicle to a claustrophobic shadowed tunnel. “Turn the lights back on, old man. I want them to see this.” Trent growled. Arthur finally stood up. When he turned around, he didn’t square his shoulders. He stood slightly bladed, his left foot forward, his hands resting loosely at his sides.
In the dim amber light, Trent couldn’t see the driver’s eyes behind the aviators, but he felt an inexplicable sudden coldness radiate from the older man. It was a feeling Trent had never encountered in the gym. On the mats, even against tough opponents, there were rules. There was a referee, there was a clock, there was a mutual understanding that both men got to go home to their families afterward. The man standing in front of him had none of that energy. Arthur was projecting an aura of absolute terrifying finality. “I won’t ask you again,” Arthur said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying perfectly over the rumble of the engine. “Sit down.”
