A Saga of Revenge

Part Two: Bixby Visits Tavern X


The whiskey burned as it slid down his throat. Bixby set the shot glass back onto the bar as he finally met the bartenders stare. The bartender took a small, almost undetectable step backwards.

“Where is he?”

Bixby’s voice was low and scratchy and came out at just above a whisper. He didn’t generally have reason to speak. The bartender looked away and began fidgeting with a bottle of brandy as he answered.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” He said, his voice quivering ever so slightly.

Bixby turned around slowly to face the five men who had gathered in a semi-circle behind him. They were hard men and each of them glared at him threateningly. These men, Bixby understood. There was no need for questions or prolonged threats. He may not respect their actions, but he did respect that they were men of action. He could sense them tensing up, preparing to make a move.

“Don’t.” Bixby warned, his quiet voice full of intensity.

The men exchanged glances, a hint of uncertainty and worry passing between them. A long moment hung over them. In the silence Bixby heard music bleeding through the walls from the jazz club next door. The saxophone’s raspy tones floated amongst them as the moment stretched on. One by one, Bixby saw each man change their mind about confronting him. Their eyes lost their edge and their bodies relaxed. All except one. The man flinched as he moved to draw his gun. In a blur, Bixby’s arm shot up into the man’s face. The man froze, his mouth open in awe over Bixby’s speed. Bixby stood there, unmoving, pointing directly at the man with his finger. He stared at him for a long moment before speaking again.

“Don’t.”

The men backed away from him and returned to their table, muttering under their breath the whole way. Bixby turned back towards the bartender and fixed him with an intense stare. The bartender shifted nervously from foot to foot before speaking.

“He’s in the warehouse across the street,” his voice was desperate, “but he can’t know it was me who told you!”

Bixby turned and made his way towards the exit. Using his peripheral vision, he took a long look at a lone man sitting in the corner. He had dark, punk rock hair and was spinning a knife on the table in front of him, pretending not to be watching Bixby, just as he had done the entire time. As Bixby climbed the stairs back to the street he began mentally preparing himself for a fight with the man. He smiled slightly, glad to have one last fight before he went into the warehouse. One last fight before he died.

Fiction Index