He walked into the dingy bar like he owned the joint, partly because he was the owner and partly because he was so full of self-made confidence that most people thought he owned things when he was around. He loved owning that bar, even if he wasn't there more then once a month lately it was still his favorite. The bar was his baby, his first business and his first real love. The place had a smell all it's own and it reminded him of long nights serving drinks and the many drunken bastards that he had dispatched during the early years. Those were the days.
He had made something from nothing and now he owned a string of bars and restaurants spanning three states and over twenty locations but this was the only one that looked like it hadn't changed since the 90's and he liked it that way. All of his other properties were new and had a theme of some sort that his marketing managers cooked up but this one still had the barely working jukebox in the corner and graffiti covered bathrooms. It was everything he used to be and still was.
"Hey, Jack!" the man with a fine navy blue suit said as he walked up to the bar tender Jack.
Jack had been there since the beginning but never wanted more than to tend the bar and he loved him for that. Jack wasn't ambitious like he was and he didn't talk much but he was strong and smart. They met in boot camp and after their respective stints on the front lines against totalitarianism were over the man had called him up and offered him a job at his newly purchased bar. Jack said 'why not' and hadn't left the place since. The man made him part owner a few years later after he had moved onto purchase more and more properties.
"How ya doing you old fuck!" the man said with a smile as they shook hands.
"Same as always," Jack said with a smile that most of the patrons would never see.
They both looked around the bar to make sure nothing had changed and when they were satisfied the man looked at Jack, nodded and went to the back room to check the books. A few moments later a couple of leather clad bikers came bursting through the door which slammed against the wall. They continued their raucous conversation as they made their way to the counter where Jack was waiting.
"So I stabbed him in the gut and stood back to watch him bleed," the shorter of the two bikers finished his sentence and then looked at Jack who was not smiling anymore. "Two Whiskeys," he said and then turned to the taller biker to continue his story. "I got three days in the hole for that one," he said and his friend laughed with approval.
Jack poured whiskey into two shot glasses and handed them over but as he turned to put the bottle back the taller biker grabbed at the bottle and said, "leave the bottle." The biker was surprised when Jack's grip did not allow this to happen.
"Don't make trouble," the smaller one said doing his best to look tough. "We'll pay," he said resting his right hand on the top of a very large knife on his belt.
Jack noticed the hand gesture and reluctantly release the bottle to the biker who thought this was a distinct victory.
The smaller one was the talkative type and continued telling story after story about exploits in violence and mayhem while the taller one continued to laugh and agree that his friend certainly was a tough son of a bitch. They drank most of the bottle before they got up to leave. The taller one stared at Jack and pulled his jacket to the side to show a gun tucked under his armpit. Jack looked at it and continued cleaning a glass unimpressed as the two turned with their pride intact, for now, and walked out into the sunlight.
As they approached their Harley Davidson bikes they found that the tires were flat and were outraged. In a huff they turned around to see a man in a bright Navy suit standing in their way.
"Hello boys!" the man said grinning like a school boy in a candy shop. "I was listening to your conversation in the bar and I just had to meet you. You are my kind of people," He started slowly walking forward as he spoke. "You take what you want and you step on those that get in your way. Reminds me of me in a way. I took what I wanted and I made my fortune stepping on those that got in my way. Maybe, one day, you two will do the same."
Just then the taller man began to reach into his coat but the man in the suit was too fast. He ran a few steps, lunged forward and hurled his shoulder into the biker's chest as the gun made a loud pop under the jacket sending a bullet through the biker's left bicep. With a thud the two hit the ground and dust exploded into the air around them. The man in the suit reached over and grabbed the gun off the ground next to him and hit the biker in the head with it knocking him out. Before he could stand up the other biker was on his back, a large knife nearing his throat. In a flash he grabbed the biker's wrist stopping the knife within millimeters of his flesh. With the silver pistol in his left hand he wrapped the pistol against the biker's head rapidly until he too fell to the ground unconscious.
The man stood up, brushed his navy blue suit off and looked down at the two men lying in the dirt. He searched them and found one more knife and a wallet, which he took thirty dollars out of and walked back into the bar. Jack was cleaning the counter and looked up to see the man holding two knives, a gun and some cash.
"Call an ambulance, will you Jack?" the man said as he dumped the items onto the counter.
Jack looked at the man, nodded and walked over the wall where a phone was hanging. The confident man in the suit sat at the counter where a shot of brandy, a cigarette and a lighter were waiting for him. He took the shot, lit the cigarette and examined the shiny pistol while he smoked.
Jack finished the call and walked over the man who looked up and said, "This is a piece of shit. Why do douchbags always have piece of shit firearms?"
"Because they're pieces of shit," Jack said nonchalantly.
They both turned and gazed at the bar contently to make sure nothing had changed. It hadn't.
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