Chapter 3

The old bartender behind the counter had not moved since the slap.
His name was Frank Doyle.
Sixty-eight years old.
Former Marine.
Vietnam veteran.
Owner of Doyle’s Tap since 1989.
He had seen bar fights, broken men, drunk cowards, and young soldiers trying to hide fear behind loud voices.
But something about the woman made his hands go still.
Not the way she took the hit.
The way she stayed silent after.
Like she was waiting for the truth to walk into the room.
Mercer pointed at her.
“Apologize.”
The woman looked at him.
“No.”
The room held its breath.
Mercer stepped closer.
“You must be stupid.”
“No,” she said. “Just tired.”
“Tired?”
“Of men like you mistaking silence for weakness.”
Mercer’s face hardened.
He raised his hand again.
This time, Frank moved.
“Sergeant,” the bartender said.
His voice was low.
A warning.
Mercer turned his head.
“Stay out of this, old man.”
Frank’s eyes darkened.
The woman lifted one hand slightly.
Not to stop Mercer.
Not to defend herself.
To reach into the pocket of her field jacket.
Mercer laughed.
“What, you got a tissue in there?”
She pulled out a coin.
Black metal.
Heavy.
Worn at the edges.
She placed it flat on the bar.
The sound was small.
But it changed the room.
Frank looked down.
Then his face went pale.
His eyes locked onto the symbol stamped into the coin.
A black raven with a broken arrow beneath it.
Around the edge were words so faint most people could not read them.
May you like
But Frank could.
Read Part 4 to learn why that black coin made a Marine veteran go pale.