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The next time someone approaches the bar near me, I take a chance.
“Do you know Antonio?”
The girl turns to me with dead eyes. “Who?”
“Antonio. Tall. Dark hair. Extremely large, with tattoos on his arm and neck. One that looks like a dragon.”
“Oh … that guy?” She turns and points to a table at the back, and my head snaps around to follow the direction. My heartbeat slows as I expect to see Antonio sitting at a table, but my eyes land on his friend instead. The tall, stringy man he had with him that day.
He’ll do.
“Tell him I want to talk to him.”
She scoffs. “Tell him yourself.”
I let one of my knives slip from my hoodie sleeve and into my hand. Then I set it very obviously on my thigh.
“Tell him I need to speak with him.”
Her snark disappears as her gaze bounces between the knife and my face before darting over to Antonio’s friend. “Are you only going to speak with him?”
“That will depend on how friendly our conversation is.”
She swallows thickly and heads over to the table. I have no idea what it is she says to the guy, and I’m not particularly interested in knowing. It’s what I have to say to the man that’s important.
She returns a few minutes later. “He said you have to go over there.”
Of course he did. I’m not here to play small games though.
“You told him what I wanted you to. You can go.”
She disappears into the crowd, and I turn on my stool, positioning my body so I’m looking directly at him. My line of sight is cut off and cleared again by the movements of the people around me, but I don’t drop my stare. I make sure he knows I’m watching him, and I make sure the knife stays very obviously visible in my hand.
It’s a standoff, and I have absolutely no interest in being the one to fold. Maybe he won’t either, but I can’t see him walking out of here without answers about who I am and what I want.
And all I want is to talk.
I am an extremely friendly man.
The night stretches on, and if he thinks I’m going to give it up and go home, he’s sorely mistaken. I’m used to life moving a lot slower than it does here, and my patience is unmatched. The number of people in the bar trickles away until he can no longer ignore the way I’m watching him, and somewhere close to midnight, he gives in.
He stands, unfolding that height in a way that’s supposed to be intimidating, but I’ve watched him drinking all night, and I know I have the upper hand.
He’s got a swagger as he approaches and pulls up the stool beside me.
“Heard you wanted to …” His eyes dart to the knife. “Chat.”
I take a moment to assess him up close. From his greasy hair to the deep pores marking his nose, it’s like the gross things that live inside his soul are trying to escape.
“I have a message for Antonio.”
He leers. “You and half of town.”
“You’re going to deliver it.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because I think he’ll be interested in what I have to say.” I tap the blade of my knife lightly against the counter. “We have a mutual friend, you see. And Antonio hurt him.” My grip tightens, voice dropping deeper. “I don’t like people who hurt my friends.”
