A cigarette lit up for a moment in the corner. The ember cast a glow over the face of the patron that sat there. A face covered by a baseball cap and dark sunglasses. A mustache and goatee covered any recognizing marks on the face. In a flash, any chance of recognizing the client of this establishment was quickly eradicated. This is a guy that didn’t want to be known, or even seen.
This is exactly what Scott was looking for. He had recently caught his wife cheating on him with his best friend. He had heard of a mercenary who spent his time in a shady biker bar, willing to take care of the dirty deeds that others refused to do. His mind swimming with guilt and fear, he approached the stranger in the corner. Within moments of arriving at the table, a hand appeared from the darkness, motioning towards the chair next to Scott. A deep voice spoke, barely above a whisper, “Sit. Now.”
Scott, visibly shaking, slid into the seat. Any thought of backing out now was gone from his mind. He knew what he had to do and this is what he had decided. Leaning forward, Scott felt a hand grip his knee. The unbelievable amount of strength in this one hand made him cringe. The voice spoke again, this time with a sterner tone. “Sit back.”
Doing as he was told, he slammed his own back into the chair. Scott had heard that this guy was difficult to deal with at times, but he was good at what he did. Scott opened his mouth, and then slammed it shut. He knew that this was going to be difficult to explain. How do you explain that your wife cheated on you and now you want her dead? He realized that this probably wasn’t the first time this guy had heard something like this, but it still bothered him deep down. Taking a deep breath, Scott lit a cigarette of his own and began to tell his own story.
“Sir. I was told to seek out your services. I have a problem. You see, it’s my wife, Gabrielle. She had the nerve to cheat on me and not even consider my feelings. Sh-“
Scott stopped suddenly, as pain ripped through his body. He felt one hand grab right below his knee, squeezing with almost inhuman strength. Right above the grip on his knee, he felt a knife being driven directly into his kneecap. The face of the one sitting across from him leaned forward, the bottom half of his face being lit up by the cigarette, “If you chose to listen to the person that told you to find me, they probably told you that I don’t kill women. Ever.”
Scott could feel the blood beginning to flow from his wound, flowing down his knee. The enormity of the pain flowing through his body was almost too much to bear, “I-I-I…….didn’t………..know…..dude…”
A scream echoed through the bar as the unknown stranger twisted the knife in Scott’s knee. The grip on his leg was loosened, as the hand came up to grab Scott by the cheeks. Pulling on the face of Scott brought him closer to the stranger. Scott could see that the glasses were gone, showing the piercing green eyes of his assailant, “The name’s Michael, not ‘dude’. Stupid dolt.”
Michael let go of Scott’s face long enough to grab a handful of hair on the back of his skull. In the blink of an eye, Scott’s face met the table in quite a violent manner. Not just once. Or twice. For five full minutes, everybody in the bar watched in horror as Michael continued to slam Scott’s face into the table. All that was left was a bloody mess. Snot, teeth, blood and various other secretions mixed on the table, creating a sickening concoction.
A moment later, Michael stood up, dropping a stack of money on the table. He looked towards the bartender, as he put his sunglasses back on. “That should cover the damage that I did, as well as getting rid of the body. Anybody tries to follow me and you shall meet the same fate.”
Michael strolled towards the door, his 6’5” frame cloaked underneath the leather duster that he wore proudly. The only thing left in his wake was fear, trepidation and the stench of old cigarettes. The patrons of the bar all turned back towards the bartender, expecting some sort of explanation. Sighing softly, he shrugged his shoulders, “I do what I can. Sometimes, he leaves a little extra for the people in the bar. If you promise not to say anything, your drinks are on the house.”
One patron stood up, a sneer growing at the corners of his lips, “Actually, you’re not doing what you can. My name is Lieutenant William Reiling. I’ve been investigating various murders around the area and they all seemed to point in this direction. I’d like to speak to you in private.” Lt. Reiling looked around the bar for a moment, then cast his attention back to the bartender, “I think it’s safe to say that this place is closed for the night.”
The guests in the bar just looked at the man, their mouths hanging loosely. Will looked around the bar, cocking his head to the side, “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. This place is closed.”
The patrons nodded almost in unison and slowly started filing towards the door. Will followed all of them to the door, making sure to lock the entrance as soon as the last one left. Turning around, he scanned the bar for the last employee in the place. The sneer slowly turned into a smile, as he found the bartender right where he left him. Strolling back towards the bar, Will sat down in the same seat he had vacated only a few moments before. Lighting a cigarette, he began to speak again, “Allow me to introduce myself. While I may be a man of wealth and taste, neither one of those are in your future.”
The bartender cringed slightly, as he could see that this probably wasn’t going to end well for him. He tried to save himself with words, something he would regret later, “Sir. I…I just wanted to try and keep my hide in one piece.”
Will’s smile quickly faded, “Try to keep yourself in one piece? I think that’s the least of your worries right now. You’re in big trouble, buddy. How many murders have you seen inside of these walls, without reporting them to the police?”
“I-I-I don’t even know. I can’t even begin to count…But, I didn’t do anything.”
“Quite to the contrary, dear fellow. You’re an accomplice to murder. But, there is something you can do to save yourself. Or, if you prefer, try to keep yourself in one piece.”
“I’ll do anything, buddy. Anything you want.”
“Anything? That’s a pretty bold statement, considering the situation you’re in. But, I’m willing to cut you a break. Follow me. We’re going to go and take a little ride.”
The bartender stepped out from behind the bar, moving towards Will in the most cautious manner he could. He had no idea what to expect from the officer, but he knew that covering up all of Michael’s murders over the years probably hadn’t been the best of ideas. The officer motioned towards the door, watching the bartender with a gleam in his eye.
The night air was fresh, almost like a new beginning. Will pointed towards the only car left in the parking lot, “Get in the backseat and I don’t want to even hear a mouse fart come out of that fat mouth of yours.” Sliding into the backseat, the smell of death permeated the stale air of the Cadillac. Will slid into the front seat, looking at the bartender in the rear-view mirror, “If you want to keep yourself in one piece, just answer all his questions truthfully, Charles.”
Charles, the bartender, nodded solemnly in answer to the officer’s request. He knew when he was beaten and this was obviously one of those times. The car drove through the streets at almost breakneck speeds. Trying to keep up with where they were, Charles quickly got lost. Will had to be breaking laws with the speeds he was keeping through these streets. A few moments later, though, the car was brought to a screeching halt. Charles looked out the window, staring at the abandoned warehouse that sat directly next to the car. He opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.
Will exited the car; opening the door for Charles, “Remember what I told you. Answer the questions that he has for you and there is a chance that you’ll make it through the night. Then again, he may be in a really bad mood.” This seemed to be somewhat humorous to the officer, as he let a soft chuckle escape his lips, “We’ll see what happens inside. He may actually be in a good mood.”
Charles glanced at the officer, and then started towards the door. He retrieved a cigarette from his pocket and quickly lit it. He needed something to calm his nerves, as he tried to justify what was happening to him. Didn’t officers usually bring people to the station to question them? You know, the whole “You’re going downtown”-thing? Shaking his head, he opened the door. He could hear footsteps rapidly approaching behind him, before feeling two hands pushing him violently into the warehouse. Smacking his head on the concrete, Charles saw stars for a few moments before completely blacking out.
