Page 11 of The Thief
"What about you, love?" the loud one says to her. "Fancy a drink when you get off? I’ll show you a good time."
"I'm working," she says evenly.
"All work and no play makes a girl dull."
"I like dull."
"Bet you do, love. Bet you like a lot of things once someone shows you how."
The implication in his voice makes my blood run cold. It makes me want to introduce his face to the bar rail until he learns some manners.
"Leave it, Sean," one of his friends says. "She's not interested."
"How do you know? Maybe she just needs the right incentive."
Sean gets up from his table and moves toward the bar with the kind of swagger drunk men use when they think they're God's gift to womankind. She steps back to the bar, her hand moving toward something behind it. A baseball bat, probably. Or worse.
"Think I'll have that drink now," I say loudly enough for Sean to hear.
He glances at me, taking in the expensive jacket and the way I'm sitting; relaxed but ready. Dangerous but controlled.
"Who asked you to get involved?" he snarls.
"Nobody. Just a fellow customer hoping for some peace and quiet."
"Find another pub then."
"I like this one."
Sean's drunk enough to be brave, and stupid enough to push it. He takes another step toward her, and I can see her calculating distances, exit routes, and ways to protect herself if this goes sideways.
Time to end this before it starts.
"Sean, is it?" I say, conversationally. "Lovely name. I had a dog called Sean once. He got put down for biting people."
The implication hangs in the air like smoke. Sean's friends go quiet, suddenly realizing their night out might be about to take a very dark turn.
"You threatening me?" Sean asks.
"Just sharing a story about a dog."
"Fuck you."
"You’re not my type. Too young. Too stupid."
He swings at me then, sloppy, a drunk man's punch that wouldn't hurt a child. I duck under it easily, step inside his guard, and drive my knee into his ribs. Not hard enough to break anything; just hard enough to fold him in half and send him to his knees gasping.
His friends are on their feet now, but they're not stupid enough to rush me. They can see what I am, what I'm capable of. Street fights are won by the man who's willing to go furthest fastest, and they're not willing to go anywhere near as far as I am.
"Drink up, lads," Murphy says calmly. "It’s time to find somewhere else to spend your evening."
They help Sean to his feet and half carry him toward the door. He's wheezing, clutching his ribs, shooting me looks that promise retribution he'll never be man enough to deliver.
"This isn't over," he says.
"Yes, it is," I reply. "And if you come back, it'll be permanent."
The threat in my voice is unmistakable. They leave without another word, stumbling into the Belfast night like the cowards they are.
