<b>Chapter </b><b>122 </b>
–
:
<b>92 </b>
After dealing with thest attacker a burly man who’d tried to grab me from behind – I walked calmly to the bar and ordered a martini. Chris was removing his blood–spattered Armani jacket<b>, </b>carefully folding it over the back of a chair. I handed him the bank card I’d slipped from One–Ear’s pocket during our brief encounter.
Chris examined the card before approaching the shell–shocked bar owner, who was staring at the scene of destruction with a mixture of horror and resignation.
“Whatever damage was done tonight,” Chris said, handing over the card, “put it on my tab.”
I sipped my martini, watching as One–Ear struggled to pull himself up from the floor<b>, </b>blood trickling from a cut above his eye. “You calling this in, or am I?” I asked Chriszily, referring to the police.
“I’ll handle it,” Chris replied, pulling out his phone.
One–Ear spat blood onto the floor. “You don’t know who you’re fucking with,” he growled. “I’m with The Three Pirs. My guys are bringing more people from the bar down the street right now.”
I felt my muscles rx at the mention of The Three Pirs. So that’s what this was about. I caught Chris’s eye and gave him a small nod.
“Go ahead, make your call,” One–Ear continued, mistaking our calm for fear. “By the time anyone gets here, you’ll
both be-”
Chris held up a finger, silencing him as he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. “Ro? It’s Jensen.
Princeton branch is your territory, right? I’m at The Velvet Lounge, and some of your boys decided to introduce
themselves.”
One–Ear’s face flickered with uncertainty at the mention of Ro’s name, but he quickly masked it with bravado. “Nice try,” he sneered. “You think I don’t know when someone’s bluffing?”
Chris ignored him, continuing his conversation while I finished my drink. We chatted about my college experience and the weather, as if we weren’t surrounded by groaning bodies and broken furniture.
–
Twenty minutester, the bar was packed again not with patrons, but with even more tattooed young men. One- Ear had managed to gather an impressive number of reinforcements. He stood in front of them, chest puffed out.
Last chance to apologize,” he announced, scanning the room to make sure his audience appreciated his magnanimity. When neither Chris nor I responded, his face hardened. “Alright boys, take them both. Don’t hold back.”
The crowd tensed, ready to surge forward, when a voice from the back shouted: “HOLD IT!”
The effect was immediate. The sea of men parted, revealing a mountain of a man with knuckles that looked like they’d been broken and reset multiple times.
:
“Knuckles,” someone whispered, awe and fear mingling in his voice.
<b>92 </b>
One–Ear’s demeanor changed instantly. His shoulders hunched, and he took a small step backward. “Hey, man, I was just-”
The neer strode forward and kicked One–Ear’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. “You fucking idiot,” he snarled, towering over the fallen man. “You dare put your hands on Mr. Jensen? Do you have a death wish?”
Behind Knuckles appeared another man – smaller, better dressed, with calcting eyes that took in the scene with cold precision.
“Mr. Jensen,” the well–dressed man said, approaching our table with deference. “I apologize for this… misunderstanding. I hope you weren’t inconvenienced.”
I raised an eyebrow at Chris. “When did The Three Pirs start recruiting such bottom–feeders<b>?</b>” I asked, nodding toward One–Ear. “They used to have standards. No trash like him in their ranks fifteen years ago.”
Chris sighed, shaking his head. “This is embarrassing. Good thing Night isn’t here to see this.” He turned to the well- dressed man, his voice taking on a harder edge. “Ro, what’s going on here? Who are these people?”
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