Wooo! Writing!! Tons of rust...so this hasn't exactly turned out the way I wanted it to...has its moments, especially some lines that are very uncharacteristic of me...will let it sit for a week then most likely end up rewriting it. Probably pull it back a bit, start it at an earlier point in the scene...though I always like starting off strong, which is a lot easier to do halfway through a running scene...
Go ahead and rip it to bits!
“You fuckin' broke my nose, Blade!” Jake passed his hand across his lips and lifted it up into view, his fingertips glistened red.
“Sorry.” A large figure standing above him apologized. The stoic form gazed over him, hands clasped in front, black suit, blank face.
The back of his head began to sting, an unpleasant gift from its abrupt kiss with the cold brick wall. He stubbornly lifted himself back to his feet.
His gaze danced about the room. The bartender caressed a dirty glass with a dirty rag, the last two patrons swung the door wide in their retreat, his comrades lay prone with lifeless eyes, and the man before him stood strong and tall. He brushed his hands down his pant legs, straigtened his blazer and locked eyes with the immobile character. Confidence returned to his brusing face, however genuine it might be was debateable.
“Look, Ethan,” He took two strong strides forward, “How many years have we been partners? Too many to count, eh? You think it's fair to come waltzing in here, kill two of my best men, scare off my customers, and flatten my face because I owe Paragon a couple bucks?”
Ethan pulled a small notebook from his breast pocket and fingered through a couple pages, “You are currently indebted two hundred and sixty thousand dollars.”
“What the fu--”
“That takes into account the accumulated interest fees.”
“Okay, look, I can pay that! It's on its way, don't worry about that. I'm saying this doesn't warrant you coming in here and causing the shit storm we're standing in now! There are more professional ways in dealing with this!”
The bartender continued to wipe down glasses, never once lifting his head.
“I understand your position, Jake.” Ethan replaced the notebook back into his pocket, “But I must remind you that I am not here in regards to any form of monetary collection.”
Jake raised his brow, “Then,” His gaze bounced between the bartender and the well dressed man, “then what is this about?”
“Blackmail.” Ethan's words struck sharp and deep. The look of confidence faded from Jake's face and was replaced with a pale and worrisome demeanor.
“Blackmail.” Jake repeated as he stifled a laugh and turned to the man behind the bar, still tending to dishware. Ethan tapped the side of his dark lensed glasses, it responded with a subtle beep.
“130bpm,” He stated, “What are you so nervous about, Jake?”
“Hutch, that discussion we had a couple days back...”
“This is of no concern to Hutch,” Ethan interrupted, “This is a matter between you and Mr. Bayer now. The vehicle in which your conspirings reached us is of no importance.”
“We are one of your primary suppliers, Ethan!” Jake shot back. “Paragon has treated us like shit this past year and I feel we're in a damn good position to lift some of the weight off our shoulders.”
“By blackmailing Mr. Bayer?”
“Can't he take a fucking joke?” Jake stepped up to the table that separated the two and slammed his fist down, cards and chips scattered, the game recently interrupted. “It was during casual conversation with Hutch over here! There was no serious intent behind it! Honest!”
“Again, this is of no concern to Hutch.”
Jake shook his head and spat to clear the metallic taste from his mouth. His blood boiled and he knew he was backing himself into a corner. Hutch ratted him out, his service to the Corporation kept him in their favour. Jake's fate was being finalised with each word that slipped from his tongue. There was no easy way out of this, that was for certain. He'd have to go out strong, sending whatever message he could to the bastards at Paragon Corp. who had been screwing him over for far too long.
Jake's eyes moved to of Ethan's dustless jacket. The concealed weapons that he knew were there would be the tools of his end.
“Custom Cypher X9 semi-automatics, high pressure .454 Casull cartridges with fourplex load propellants, extended high accuracy barrels ,” Jake said with nostalgic delight as Ethan flashed a smirk of satisfaction, “My finest creation. Weapons fit for a monster. I'm sure the next bullets in their chambers have my name written on them, don't they?”
“I have no intention of using them today.” Ethan replied.
“That's one thing I always liked about you, Ethan.” Jake eyed his comrades, one of which had his head violently contorted to the side, the second with a half broken bottled embedded in his chest. “You always had a great sense of style.”
Jake reached for a glass, half full with whiskey, tipped his head back and felt the warmth caress his throat. His hand dropped below the table and returned with his trusted Baretta in hand. His vision blurred as he fired, the slug harmlessly driving into the ceiling. His arm continued in an upwards arc until the sting returned to the back of his head. The liquor slicked floor had become his death bed.
Ethan never moved a muscle.
“Remind me to never piss you off, man” The bartender finally piped up. Ethan made his way towards the door.
“Looks like you own the business now.” Ethan looked back from the corner of his eye, “Sorry about the mess.”
“Hey, it's no problem. Clean up will be easy.” Hutch began smashing bottles, the air thickened with the smell of alcohol. “Just lemme know when you need supplies. I'll be setting up shop down by the harbour.”
Ethan nodded in acknowledgement and started again for the door.
“Say,” Hutch hollared, “You need a ride? Truck's out back!”
“That's okay,” Ethan declined, “I'll stick to the rooftops.”
“Whatever you say!” Hutch tossed a lighter to the sea of booze.
The silence of the night was broken as sirens wailed in the distance and flames stretched high for the starry sky. A black figure deftly leapt from rooftop to rooftop with inhuman grace.
His clips were full.