Page 28 of Rogue

One kick and he’d be back to dancing the dead man’s jig. “Nod.” With a pleading, desperate sound rising in his throat, he started bobbing his head like he couldn’t do it fast enough.

“Good. So there’s no need for this to get out. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, or who you work for. So, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, what happened here today never happened. It was just another series of bar fights in a cheap bar that sells bad beer and good burgers. And we all can go on with our lives like we never met. Do you agree?” This time he didn’t need any prompting to nod, but the motion was so resentful, it tempted me to kick the leg out from under him on principle.

Instead, I got up out of the chair. “See, we can be civilised. Now get out.” Walking around behind him, I wrenched the knife from the table and watched the suit promptly fall on his arse. Coughing violently, he scrambled back up to his full height, his face quickly reddening as blood returned to his head, murder burning in his eyes.

I didn’t back down. Instead, I held his gaze until, with a muttered curse, he straightened out his suit lapels and turned away. When he was about to step out into the night, I called out, “By the way, next time you want to get a guy to talk, just cut off one of his pinky fingers. Then tell him his thumb’s next. After that, he’ll pretty much tell you whatever you want to know. Saves a lot of time.”

Freezing mid-step, he shot me a glare back across his shoulder. “I’ll see you later, funny man,” he promised, his voice low and seething with barely leashed anger, before disappearing into the night.

“I can’t wait,” I mused before looking down at Gates. He looked even worse this close, like a raw steak that had been well and truly tenderized by Mike Tyson and Nick Fury. “You know, I don’t know what it is about me today. I just keep getting into fights. I don’t know, what do you think, is it my face?”

He groaned, his voice weak and barely coherent. “What do you want?”

“Now is that any way to say thank you?”

“Thank you,” he asked slowly, his eyes slowly coming back into focus. “For what? You’re the reason they did this to me.” His voice was coming back, thick and passionate with that contentious mix of self-pity and accusation.

“I’m also the reason you came out of it with nothing more than a beating,” I countered, my tone matter of fact, almost conversational. “You don’t want to know what those boys would do once they’d have got started. If you’d been lucky, they would have just kneecapped you and left it as a message. But often as not, they’d take you to some deserted warehouse somewhere and give you a seeing to with baseball bats before leaving you a couple of days. Then when you’re feeling good and sorry for yourself, they would come back, only they’d arrive with your wife or children in tow and make you watch as they-”

“Alright, alright, I get the picture,” he groaned, the visual already too much. “Thank you,” he spat it out with all the appreciation of a vegan in McDonald’s before rolling up into a seated position. “What the hell do you want?”

“Like I told our mutual friends back there, I want you to give that girl her job back,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, bored with these games for one day.

His eyes went wide, and he struggled to think of something to say. “But she- she.”

I wouldn’t have it. We both knew the truth. She was disposable labour, easy to get rid of. Easier to just give her the boot than face the consequences of his nepotism.

“She’s a sweet girl who doesn’t deserve to get railroaded because it’s easier to sack her than your son. I don’t give a damn about your domestic situation or what you tell the rest of your staff. Frankly, it’s been a long day. I’m tired, hungry, and as I just saved your ass, I think it’s the least you can do. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He nodded quickly.

“Good, so you’ll call her in the morning. Tell her you’re sorry, and you’d like her to come back. Then throw in a bonus, because you were such an asshole. Understand?” I hold his eyes as I give the instructions, making sure he understood I meant every word.

He nodded his head animatedly, then, with what was quite probably his last drop of courage, he asked, “Why do you even care?”

“I have a tender spot in my heart for lost causes and outcasts. I don’t like seeing them taken advantage of, and I don’t like the people that do it. Understand?” Venom dripped from my question, my intent to watch him squirm like a worm in bleach clear.

He nodded again before dropping his head to stare at his feet. He still had his shoes on.

“Right, well, now we’ve got that all worked out, I’ll be on my way. But I’ll be dropping by tomorrow for lunch. I trust no one will have a problem with that.”

He looked back up at me and forced a big grin that, with the blood and swelling, would have given him a shot at the next Nightmare on Elm Street as Freddy himself. “Of course not. You’re our most valued customer.” Spoken like a true sycophant.

I matched the grin. “Good. I’ll see myself out.” I turned and took two steps but I suddenly realised in all this, there was something I still needed to ask and looked back. “Oh, by the way, what’s that girl’s name?”

He looked up, startled by such a strange question, given the circumstances. I couldn’t blame him for that. Going through all this trouble when I didn’t even know her name. I must have gone soft in the head.

He thought for a second, then said, a little uncertain, “Jane, Jane… err Porter.”

Well, fuck me… what were the odds?

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