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It was a night like every other. The pub was busy with rough workers keen to drop their fresh paychecks onto the bar. He moved through the hustle looking for a drink and a dark corner to vanish into. The barkeep was as close to a friend as he had and always knew what he wanted. He had a full glass in his hand with little more then a wave.
He turned to move away when a weight hit him square in the back. He fell hard against the bar fumbling his drink. The glass shattered at his feet. He didn’t expect anything but an apologetic expression from an intoxicated face. He got three heavyset loggers instead.
“-retarded fuckin-” The one who’d hit him was halfway through shouting face scrunched into an angry red glare “-out of my way!”
He turned back to the bar to get a replacement drink when fingers dug into his shoulder spinning him back around.
“-to you, you asshole! You owe me a drin-” the logger continued hell-bent on a reaction. He drew himself to his full height brushing the hand from his shoulder with a hard snap. He pushed the logger back and pointed at him in warning. The man sneered with a jeering ‘oooh’ his friends puffing with aggressive smiles. The three where familiar to him, he’d seen those twisted smirks since he was young.
He ignored them going back to trying to flag down the barkeep. As he waited he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bottles. It gave him pause as he stared at the reflection of his face. There was a dull numbness to the features that hung limp there. He wondered at how long he had been blotting out his existence in this place. Stamping it out one day at a time.
There where eyes watching him in the reflection. He glanced over to meet them. It was an unfamiliar figure sitting behind him. Few people where unknown in this place and he could tell this man did not come from the town.
A fist landed squarely his jaw sending him sprawling onto the floor. He blinked through the surprise finding himself on his back staring up at the Stranger sitting in the booth above him. The man watched him with curious eyes before flicking his gaze up indicating the approaching loggers. He lifted himself to his feet ready for the next hit.
He pushed a kick aside and delivered an elbow to the logger’s ribs. The next came at him while the other rounded behind him and he could see the bar staff noticing the fight. Putting his hands together he belted the man in front trying to dispatch him quickly. The one behind him grabbed him in a headlock. He struggled against the arms as he felt himself being dragged towards the door. He knew outside, without an audience the loggers violence would double. He had the scars to prove it. Despite his best efforts the door opened and he was plunged into the icy air.
The drop in temperature hit him hard and he gasped as he thrashed furiously against his captor. He watched the second and third logger leave the bar a bottle each in hand. They dragged him into the alley beside the bar tossing him down against a brick wall. He glowered up at them. Through the dim light it was hard to catch the words but he snatched enough.
“-always in the corner- making trouble-you fucking faggot”
He wasn’t sure why it was this night. He supposed they’d drunk too much, finally decided it was time to rid their town of the only outsider born there but he could see it in their eyes. Could see the decision made. So he made his own.
In one swift movement he snatched the legs out from under the man closest to him and punched him hard enough to break his jaw knocking him out cold. He was on his feet grabbing the next one. He yanked his body forward bending his arm back till it broke then threw him against the alley wall headfirst. It was every torment compounded and every cruelty borne flooding out of him in a fluid motion of bones breaking and skin splitting. He knocked the second down feeling prickles of satisfaction as the mans body struck the street.
As he turned to the last one pain tore through his shoulder and he shrieked gripping the area. A shaking pistol barrel filled his vision.
“This time you’re going down, mute” the last said muzzle smoking from it’s first shot in the brisk and brittle air. He fell to his knees gripping his shoulder blood dribbling over his fingers. The agony was sickening and he swayed, the muzzle swaying with him.
The stranger from the bar emerged as through he had materialized from some other world. With one smooth movement he smashed a bottle into the side of the logger’s head. The surprised man went down before he even knew what had happened. The stranger seemed unconcerned with the scene of carnage around him as he dropped the broken bottleneck and straightened his jacket. He stepped over the unconscious body, took the gun from his hand and slipped it into his pocket. The stranger then lowered himself to his haunches before him so they where at level height.
“First time being shot huh?” He said as his hands cutting signs through the air “Yeah hurts like a son of a bitch”
He stared at him breathing hard. The stranger studied the bodies littered around him approvingly. He had dark hair that was combed back and a thick beard. There was a hawkish look about him: slick and predatory.
“Well that guy is dead he signed and pointed casually. He looked over to the perfectly still body of the logger that had first hit him. As he stared at the still figure he found it hard to muster up regret. He had little doubt that where it not for this stranger he would be lying dead in the snow. So unless I miss my mark a hospital doesn’t really seem on the cards for you. Do you want some help getting stitched up?
He let go of his shoulder hand sticky with blood. The world was going hazy at the edges. He waved his hand palm up.
Proposition for you. Being in jail not going to give opportunity to take me up on it. Going to help you and ask later He signed before holding out his hand.
He stared at it for a long moment shivers wracking his body. If he turned him down there would be one of two outcomes of which he was certain. He would either die in the snow waiting to an ambulance or live long enough to get help, be arrested and go to jail. This man could be anyone, could have anything planned for him but as he looked at the open palm he knew he’d already made his mind up.
He took it and the stranger pulled him to his feet then carefully placed his uninjured arm over his smaller shoulders. The man was much shorter in stature and the walk to the car was awkward. The blood loss robbed him of his consciousness as he fell onto the backseat of the car.
* * *
He woke with a start shoulder causing a jolt of discomfort. He grimaced glancing down. He was shirtless with a white bandage wrapped tightly around his shoulders and chest. He was relived to find the room free of police. The walls where a pale yellow colour, the type that had at one stage, no doubt, been white. There where two beds, a tv set from the 80s and the stranger sitting on a chair in the corner reading a local newspaper. He quickly became aware of a severe dryness in his throat. He clicked his fingers and the stranger looked up putting the paper down.
Water He held three fingers up tapping them to his lips.
“It’s there” The stranger gestured to his bedside table where there was a pitcher and a glass waiting.
He grabbed it, sculling it thirstily and studying the stranger in the warm bedside lamplight. He felt strange and hazy and suspected the relative dullness of the pain in his shoulder was thanks to some strong medication.
“This place is kind of light on for excitement hey? I mean aside from the pub fights” He saw the man say as he folded up the paper.
Who are you? He signed What did you give me?
I gave you morphine and my name is Mr. Numbers. I was sent here on a job He explained hands moving through the air with ease Supposed to pick up a new partner who you killed last night.
Concern slid down his spine and he tensed. Mr Numbers, as he called himself, did not look hostile. The fact that he was alive at all suggested he was under little threat. Numbers sniggered a little before settling back in his chair.
He couldn’t beat you with two friends and a gun so I guess he was more of a small town thug then my superiors led me to believe He continued Do you feel bad about it?
He thought on it for a moment.
No
Why not? Mr Numbers asked. He thought about the endless bouts of jabs and fights and pranks over the years, which had only intensified with age. He thought of the loggers family and his wife’s occasional black eyes. He thought of the degree of peace his absence would create.
He was a bad man he answered Would’ve let me bleed out
“Hmmmm. Interesting” Numbers said watching him with a pleased smile but said no more.
Thanks for the alleyway He signed And for patching me up
No problem Numbers shrugged Wasn’t planning on it but you put up such a good fight. Where did you learn to fight like that?
When I was a kid he replied not wanting to go into what his childhood had demanded. He left it at that and moved on You know ASL?
Mr. Numbers nodded before looking down at his hands.
My sister he signed expression distant Learned it when she was born. You got any family? Wife? Kids?
No he replied he wasn’t sure if it was the blood loss or the drugs but he felt compelled to continue Mum died. Hate dad. No partner. No-one interested.
Why not? You’re big, tall, strong. Numbers assessed waving in his general direction Good odds for anyone.
Not here He replied dismissively.
“Well that settles it” Mr. Numbers said standing up and moving over to sit on the bed alongside his own. As he moved into the light details of his demeanor became clearer. It was hard to pin an age on him but he looked like he was in his late 20s. He wore a plain black suit, which had seen better days. Despite the sleep deprived red tinged eyelids his eyes glinted in the light. There was little doubt that he wasn’t a criminal. The stolen gun resting comfortably in his jacket pocket attested to that.
I need a partner and you need an escape. The man you killed was going to take the name Mr. Wrench and come work with me Numbers explained signing with large expressive motions.
What work? He signed. Numbers smirked.
The kind you did in the alleyway
He leaned back a little concerned at the turn in conversation.
Who do you work on? he signed hesitantly.
Bad men. Most of them make your logger friends look like Dorris Day. I can handle them alone but it helps to have an imposing guy along for the ride. Speeds up getting answers…carrying bodies.He signed Your blood was all over that alleyway, everyone in the bar knew you where out there so you’ve got some choices to make.
He marveled at how spectacularly strange a turn the night had taken. Numbers leaned closer shadows playing on the contours of his features. He huffed a breath out through his nose feeling his ears go red.
If you want to take your chances, try to make your own escape I’m cool with that. I’ll even leave you a couple of pain killers for the road cause I like your style Mr. Numbers signed Otherwise you can take Mr. Wrench’s name and place and we’ll get the hell out of here.
He settled back onto the bed eying the old tv as he weighed his options. He envisioned his many escape routes and the obstacles they would entail. By now going back to his house was pointless as there would be officers waiting. Escaping would be difficult regardless of painkillers, as the gunshot wound had left him weak and dizzy. He had friends in the neighboring towns but none that he would risk being accessories to his crime. He could feel Numbers gaze on him. It felt strange. He wondered how many of the people he knew would have done what Numbers had for him. Numbers wanted him as a partner. As a partner he had value. As a partner he knew he'd be safe.
He looked back over at Numbers. Regardless of motive Numbers wanted him to go with him. The corner of his mouth quirked up. He held out his hand. Numbers grinned shaking it warmly.
Mr. Wrench it is then.