“Let me get this straight, you’re pounding on his door to tell him his fiancée’s parents are going to murder him if he doesn’t get her home immediately” she paused, grinning “and he tells you that he just came out of the closet. And neither of you find that funny.” She quirked her eyebrow, “at all?”
“I would, if I knew where she was. Maybe.” He sighed and rubbed his head. The coffee was helping a bit. “I’m worried about her.”
“You two broke up, didn’t you? Why is it your problem where their spoiled brat ended up?” She frowned at James and then turned to the other man. “And what the hell Duggan, why are you playing their messenger boy?”
The grizzled man rolled his eyes. “Campus security, kinda my job. Faculty upset about missing student daughter, that’ll be paperwork.” His tone was light, but his muscles were tensed. “I’d really like to avoid another incident.” He quoted with his fingers. “The last one, do you know how many hours I spent staring at the footage?”
“John, look, I don’t remember much. I don’t even really remember the fight that Anna here has clearly heard about.”
“You don’t remember the fight? You don’t remember how she slapped you in front of a handful of your friends, and shoved you into the bushes. How can you not remember that!?”
“Oh, well, that does explain these.” James slides back his shirt sleeves and rubs his finger along a series of scratch marks on his forearms.
“Damn it man.” Duggan reaches down into his knapsack and pulls out a red kit. He unzips it and pulls James’ arms across the cafe counter towards him. His manner is mechanical as he inspects the wounds. He taps his earpiece once and resumes his examination. “Record. Medical supply log. James Gorman. Minor scratches on both arms. Application of disinfectant and the goo. Both containers still fairly full. End and mark for transcription.”