Axel
I rose from my armchair, Chloe and whiskey on my mind, in that order. Leaving my gear in my non-descript ex-army duffel bag; the sort of no-nonsense bag you could sling over one shoulder and fuck off in an instant. I liked it, even though I had to admit it was a bit frayed and beaten.
I left the door to my small but modern apartment and ran down the steps, taking two at a time. My mind ran over the impending trip to the airport, the flight, and trip to the hotel in Paris after the flight. Going over potential routes, risks, dangers… fucking traffic hotspots. My mind was swimming with ideas and thoughts, felt like it was about to fucking explode. I regretted taking on such a mammoth undertaking, but the money was right. Plus, after meeting Chloe I felt an instinctive need to protect her, to keep her out of trouble. And it made me feel fucking nervous.
I had one more day to relax, so a few whiskies were on the cards this evening. I was out on the street now, taking in the sights and sounds of the city near my apartment. Traffic passed me on the left as I strolled purposefully along the sidewalk, the sound of engines intermittently broken by car horns. A homeless guy to my right, drunk or high; possibly both. A young, mean looking guy swaggering past him, bloodshot eyes darting everywhere at once. His hand in his jacket.
Gangster.
I avoided the hood and tossed the homeless guy a couple of ones. Not that he seemed to notice. I passed him by and headed towards my local bar. Rough, but quiet. I’d been there a few times and the locals mostly ignored me.
A young woman walked past, her hips swaying. Looking at me with hooded eyes. I winked. She smiled.
I had to walk a couple blocks and cross the road to get to the bar, Drake’s. Apparently, Drake was the owner. A rough guy of few words, who mainly grunted when you ordered a drink. He looked like he could handle himself. I liked him instantly.
I walked in the main door, swinging the heavy door back effortlessly. My eyes scanned the bar. The usual suspects were there, two old guys sitting on stools at the bar which stretched across the back of the building, with bathrooms either side. There were a couple of other regulars dotted about on the faded red leather booths, which ran down either side of the building. The space in the middle of the bar was filled by wooden tables and chairs, which were all slightly mismatched.
The locals barely paid me any attention as I walked past the tables and chairs to approach the bar. One of the old guys nodded at me, I nodded back in greeting. The owner seemed to notice the exchange, and looked my way. “Whiskey on the rocks?” he said, in a gravelly voice.
“Yeah,” I replied. “And a round for the bar.” The old guys on my right raised their glasses and nodded, with a muttered thanks. The other guys behind me in the booths toasted me a bit more vigorously.
Well, I guess that’s me initiated. Just one of the locals now. I guess they like that I don’t say much, don’t cause any trouble and can handle my drink...
“Thanks,” I grunted, picking up the whiskey that had been placed on the bar in front of me. I opted for a bar stool, on the other side of the bar as the two old locals. Usually that earned me a frown or two, but now I’d risen to the rank of initiated local, I wasn’t even glanced at.
As I took my seat at the bar the door opened loudly behind me. I heard voices in a heated exchange, either arguing or just drunk. Arguing about whose round it was, it seemed. The voices approached, piercing the silence in the bar with crude conversation.
Just what I fucking need. I took a swig of whiskey. And I was starting to fucking relax. Typical.
Without turning I could smell trouble. These guys were already drunk and they sounded up for a fight, I could hear it in their voices. I’d been around enough drunken idiots in my time to know when they were out looking for trouble; loud, aggressive, brash. Why they’d walked into a bar for old men and drunks, I had no clue.
They chose the wrong time to come in here.
I wasn’t afraid of knocking a couple heads together, if it meant peace and quiet.
The two guys approached the bar, quiet for a second. It seemed the debate over who was paying was resolved, at least for the time being.
“Get us two beers, with whiskey chasers,” one said. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the one who spoke was the smaller of the two, probably the brains. The guy to his right was big, half fat and half muscle.
Drake didn’t say a word as he begrudgingly prepared the drinks for the two, taking twice as long as he would for one of the locals. I looked his way; his gaze was fixed intently on the two rough men in front of him. He didn’t look fazed at all.
Probably got a shotgun under the bar.
The two guys resumed their heated conversation, but this time the big guy was boasting to his friend about how he had recently bedded his colleague's wife.
“Yeah, after the party we had to celebrate finishing the last job, you know. The apartment block.”
He paused to take a huge swig of whiskey, followed by half of his bottle of beer.
Construction. Explains the equal ratio of fat and muscle.
His friend laughed loudly, patting him on the shoulder. The big guy continued his boasting. “You know Mike’s wife, Shelley? Gagging for it, she was. Said he wasn’t up to the job and she needed someone big to take care of her…”
I stopped listening, and pretended to watch the small tv above the bar, behind Drake. I shifted on my seat and drained the rest of my whiskey in one go, sliding the empty glass over towards the barman. He refilled my glass obligingly, and was rather generous with the measure. I nodded at him slightly, an intense look on my face. Yeah, don’t worry. I can handle them was the look I was trying to convey. He nodded back and resumed his stance at the centre of the bar.
One of the old guys on the stools said something to the other. The other old guy laughed.
“What’s that, old man?” the big guy said, turning to face the old drunks, his back now turned to me. “Got something to say?”
His sidekick chimed in. “Say it so we can all hear it.”
“Yeah.” The big guy gestured with his beer bottle. “Ain’t polite, sayin’ things about others under your breath.”
The old guy didn’t say anything, taking a long drink from his glass. In fact he seemed to be pretending that he hadn’t heard anything at all, and he was doing a damn good job of it.
The two thugs exchanged glances. I could see the smaller guy raise his eyebrows. The big one smiled meanly. They turned back to face the old man.
“We’re talking to you. Don’t you go pretending you’ve suddenly gone deaf. I ain’t afraid of teaching you a lesson in manners, old man.” He stepped forward and poked a sausage-like finger into the old man’s chest.
I decided I’d had enough. I was almost halfway through my second whiskey and was more stressed than before I entered the bar.
Fucking hell. I never get any damn peace. Fools coulda’ done me a favour and come in here an hour later, and got chased out by the shotgun instead.
I stood up swiftly, scraping the bar stool loudly on the wooden floor. The two thugs turned to face me, mean expressions on their faces. They didn’t seem worried that I was the same height as the bigger of the two, and much more heavily muscled. And I looked twice as fucking mean.
First mistake.
“You got a problem as well?” the smaller one said. “Looks like everyone in here needs a lesson in fucking manners.”
I held my hands up defensively, palms facing towards them. “Listen,” I said, in a low, menacing voice; “‘Cause I’m only gonna say this once.” I paused, enjoying the silence in the bar, everyone’s attention on me. “I suggest you fuck off now, before I teach you a lesson in fucking manners.”
They stood stupefied for a second, their expressions quickly changing from shock to anger in the space of a few seconds. They both took a step towards me, arms raised.
Second and final mistake. Shoulda listened.
I covered the distance to the pair in an instant. The big guy was slow to react, shifting his weight to face me. He moved like he was in water, adrenaline slowing down my perception of time.
The smaller guy was quicker, and had reacted to my advance first, swinging a savage right hook at my jaw. I tensed my left arm, strong palm facing outwards, and stepped into the punch, deflecting his fist harmlessly past my head. I brought my right fist up to his jaw in an explosive uppercut, my massive biceps and ripped abdomen giving the punch awesome power, sending him flying backwards and landing with a crunch.
An instant later I turned to face the big guy, his fists raised in a crude guard. He started to swing a couple of boxer’s punches at me, powerful swings that would do serious damage to the unprepared. I weaved under his first right jab, rising to send a left cross into his temple. He grunted and punched at me viciously with his left, bringing his fist hooking towards my temple. I rocked back on my feet, his fist missing my face by a few inches. His momentum took him slightly off balance.
I stepped into his guard, pushing his over-extended right arm into his chest. At the same time I headbutted him brutally, square on his nose. It broke with an audible crack. I hooked my right leg behind his left, stepping past him and sending him the rest of the way to the floor. He landed heavily with a grunt of pain.
Shoulda listened when I told you to fuck off.
The whole exchange had taken a matter of seconds. I looked at the pair on the floor, slowly picking themselves up. I didn't expect any more trouble from these two. And their pride would most likely stop them from going crying to the cops, I thought. No, likely they’d calm down for a bit and find another bar. Then take it out on some unfortunate victim later on.
I hope they run into another Axel. One who doesn’t let them stand back up. Fucking scum.
I had been a nasty bastard in times in the past, but only to people who deserved it, who had threatened me or someone I was protecting, or had purposefully got in the way. I didn’t consider myself a hero, as I knew the only real way to stay safe was to avoid trouble if at all possible. But I hated lowlife, small time wannabe hard men who picked on people for no reason.
My small audience were stunned into silence by my savage display of skill and power. In reality, there could have been four more of those guys and they’d all be writhing on the floor in pain.
If there’s anything my time in the Rangers taught me, it’s how to fight.
I surveyed the eyes fixated on me from around the bar. I had been in the army for a few years in my younger days. My strength, savagery, skill with weapons and fighting prowess had lead me into the Rangers. Which I’d deserted, after a period of spiralling self-destruction into corruption and illicit gambling rackets after the breakdown of my first and only marriage. The gambling rackets had mainly been taking bets on fights I was competing in. Sometimes illegal bare knuckle fights with the hardest men I could find. I always won.
I turned to face Drake. I was stunned into silence to see him grinning broadly, his face lit up with a huge, beaming smile.
“Sorry ‘bout that.” I said, after a second. “Just don’t like fools causing trouble where it ain’t needed. ‘Specially fools that gang up on a couple of old guys who ain’t causing no trouble.”
Drake nodded, still grinning. “That’s alright.” He leant over the bar to tap me heavily on the shoulder, and then pointed a finger at the old guy. “Thing is,” his expression turned serious, “They’d picked on him ten years ago, they wouldn’t be walking outta here.”
The old guy winked at me. “Navy SEAL.”
“Rangers,” I replied, nodding. I took another measure of the old guy. He still carried the hint of muscle under his ageing frame. The two thugs would still have got more than they bargained for if I hadn’t stepped in.
I took a seat two stools down from the old guy. A large whiskey appeared in front of me. “Drinks on the house today,” Drake said, his gruff demeanour returned.
I raised the glass and took a grateful swig. Then I heard the door slam shut behind me, our uninvited guests leaving with their tails between their legs.
“So.” The old guys had turned on their stools to look at me. “Rangers, huh? Bet you got some stories. Right?”
Looks like I broke the ice.
I grinned broadly, genuinely enjoying myself. “‘Course. I got tons of stories.” My expression darkened in feigned seriousness as I turned to face them. “If you think you can handle them.” I winked.