Mitchell barked, taking two aggressive steps toward her. The sarcasm in his voice was thick enough to choke on. Kyle, the young cashier, froze, his hand hovering over the barcode scanner. The two other customers in the store nervously stepped back, sensing the sudden spike in tension. Alicia turned slowly.
Her expression was neutral, carved from years of dealing with insubordinate subordinates and arrogant contractors. "Can I help you? What unit are you with?" Mitchell demanded, crossing his arms. He was standing too close, invading her personal space, trying to use his physical size to intimidate her.
"I'm not interested in discussing my assignment with a stranger." Alicia replied evenly. Her voice was calm, but the boundary she set was absolute. She turned back to Kyle. "Just the coffee, please."
"Yeah, that's what I thought." Mitchell sneered, turning his head to make sure the other customers were listening. ""You people buy this crap at an Army surplus store and think you can just parade around getting free discounts and stolen glory. Where'd you get the bird? eBay?"" Alicia paused. A cold anger flickered in her chest, but her training kept it locked behind a wall of pure discipline. She had fought Taliban insurgents in the Korengal Valley.
She wasn't about to lose her temper at a gas station over a disgruntled civilian playing tactical dress-up. She looked Mitchell dead in the eye. ""Sir, I strongly advise you to step back and lower your voice. You are making a fool of yourself."" "Stolen valor!" Mitchell shouted, his face turning red. ""That's a federal crime. You aren't a colonel.
You don't even know how to properly blouse your boots, and your flag patch is off-center."" It wasn't, of course. Alicia's uniform was immaculate. But Mitchell wasn't looking at facts. He was looking at his own prejudices. Alicia paid for her coffee, took her receipt, and walked past him, completely ignoring his frantic, red-faced rant.
Her silence infuriated him more than any insult could have. As she pushed through the sliding doors and walked back out to her car, Mitchell pulled out his cell phone. "Yeah, 911?" Mitchell said loudly into the receiver, pressing his face against the store window to watch Alicia. ""I need an officer at the Shell station on Route 1. I've got a fraud here.
A woman impersonating a military officer, harassing people, trying to run a scam."" Kyle, watching from behind the register, whispered, "Dude, she wasn't doing anything." "Shut up, kid." Mitchell snapped. ""I know a fake when I see one, and I'm making sure she gets what's coming to her."" Officer Gregory Finch was having a slow, irritating Tuesday. At 28 years old, Finch had been with the local police department for barely 3 years. He was the kind of cop who watched a few too many action movies, wore wraparound sunglasses even when it was cloudy, and treated every minor traffic stop like a high-stakes cartel takedown.
He was constantly looking for a bust that would get his name in the local paper. When the dispatch call came over the radio, "Suspicious person, possible fraud / impersonating military personnel at the Route 1 Shell." Finch flipped on his lights and hit the gas. A stolen valor bust? That was perfect.