"Are you taking his side?"
"I'm saying we should leave."
Victor pointed toward Curtis.
"He's trying to make us look bad."
Dylan looked at the broken plate.
Then at Curtis's cheek.
Then at the people recording.
"Coach, we already do."
Victor's face turned red.
He shoved Dylan backward.
Not hard enough to knock him down, but hard enough to make the young man's shoulder strike the edge of a chair.
That changed the mood of the group.
Aaron Pike stepped forward.
"That's enough."
Victor looked at him.
"Get back."
Aaron did not move.
For a second, the two men stared at each other.
Then Victor turned away and faced Curtis again.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Curtis shook his head.
"No."
"You're standing there acting like you're better than everybody."
"I'm standing here because you won't let me finish my dinner."
Victor looked at the phones again.
He realized that the story was no longer entirely his to control.
He needed something that would make Curtis appear dangerous.
Something that would justify the scene.
So he reached toward Curtis's chest again.
Curtis stepped back half a pace.
"Don't touch me."
Victor followed.
"Or what?"
Curtis looked at him.
"Or you'll have to explain why you keep touching someone who hasn't threatened you."
The sentence was calm.
It was also clear.
The young men behind Victor heard it.
So did the waitress.
And the father holding his daughter.
A customer near the window said loudly, "I got all of that."
Victor turned.
"Put your phone down."
"No."
"You're interfering."
"I'm eating dinner."
A few customers laughed.
The irony was not lost on anyone.
Victor's expression changed.
He looked around the room, searching for someone who would help him restore the authority he felt slipping away.
He found no one.
Then the waitress disappeared behind the counter and reached for the telephone.
Curtis saw her do it.
He did not stop her.
He simply stood beside the booth, blood on his lip, his hands still open.
The first uniformed employee to arrive was not a police officer.
It was the travel plaza's floor supervisor, a woman named Evelyn Brooks.
Evelyn was fifty-three, had worked at the plaza for nearly eleven years, and had managed more difficult customers than she could remember. She wore a blue vest over a white shirt and kept a small notebook in her pocket.
She approached the scene with the measured caution of someone who understood that the loudest person was not necessarily the person in danger.
"What's happening?"
Victor answered immediately.
"This man threatened me."
Curtis looked at Evelyn.
"I didn't."
Victor pointed at him.
"He was getting aggressive."
Evelyn looked at the broken plate.
"Who broke that?"
Victor said nothing.
The waitress came forward.
"He grabbed the customer's shirt and hit him."
Victor turned.
"Nobody asked you."
Evelyn's expression hardened.
"I did."
The waitress took a breath.
"I saw him grab the man's collar. Then he slapped him."
Evelyn looked at Curtis.
"Are you injured?"
"My face hurts. I think my lip is cut."
"Do you need medical attention?"
"Maybe. I'd like the police to document what happened."
Victor laughed.
"Of course he does."
Evelyn turned toward him.
"Sir, I need you to step away from the customer."
Victor did not move.
"I paid for dinner."
"You can discuss that with me later."
"I am the customer."
"So is he."
Victor looked at the people recording.
"Everybody here is making this into something it isn't."
A woman near the window answered.
"We're making it exactly what it is."
Evelyn pulled out her radio.
"Security to the restaurant. Police requested. We have a physical assault involving a customer."
Victor's face changed.
He had expected the employees to become intimidated.
Instead, the situation was moving into a process he could not easily control.
He stepped away from Curtis, but not before pointing a finger at him.
"This isn't over."
Curtis looked at the finger.
Then at Victor.
"It should be."
The words were not a threat.
They sounded almost tired.
And that, more than anything, seemed to irritate Victor.
The police arrived nine minutes later.
Two officers entered through the main doors, followed by a third who remained near the entrance to speak with the security guard.
The first officer was Sergeant Naomi Carter, a woman in her early forties with a calm manner and a compact body camera attached to her uniform.
The second was Officer Luis Bennett, a younger man who carried a small notebook.
They separated the people involved.
Sergeant Carter spoke first with Evelyn and the waitress. Officer Bennett approached Curtis.
"Sir, can you tell me what happened?"
Curtis took a breath.
"I was sitting in that booth. He came over and told me I was in the wrong place. I asked why. He grabbed my collar, pulled me up, and slapped me."
Officer Bennett glanced at Curtis's cheek.
"Did you hit him?"
"No."
"Did you threaten him?"
"No."
"Did you touch him?"
"Only when I moved back after he grabbed me. I didn't strike him."
Officer Bennett nodded.
"Do you have identification?"
Curtis reached slowly toward his wallet.
"Yes. It's in my back pocket."
"Go ahead."
Curtis removed his driver's license and commercial driver's license, then handed them over.
The officer checked the information.
"Curtis Dawson?"
"Yes."
"Where are you from?"