Woo, I actually got a review for the first chapter!
Sybil Corvax: Thanks - glad someone liked it :P
And onto the chapter.
We're getting into the storyline now. No Death Note elements quite yet, but I'm suspecting they'll be at around chapter 4 or 5ish.
But, the action's picking up in this chapter, at least.
Oh, and in this chapter, as an added bonus, is Don't first experience with a lovely beverage called tequila.
An inquiry of, "What the fuck d'yeh mean, 'yeh've never had tequila'?" and one free shot of Jose Cuervo was all that it apparently took to create a monster within the walls of Mac's Tavern on a particularly crowded Friday night. If he had been given any hint as to what the explosive result of this lethal combination of actions was, he might have never said anything. Of course, Mac was out of town, which meant that even working the bar, Al wasn't entirely sober himself. For that reason, he might have still done both things if he had known the result in advance, if only for the amusement factor. Al shook his head in dismay as he poured Don's third paid-for shot, then continued onto the next four. If Don didn't get back on his barstool soon, then it would be one hell of a waste. "The only thing we can hope is that 'e doesn' end up gettin' the worm," he said to Pat and Sean.
"Why?" Pat asked curiously.
"Oh, there's no telling what might 'appen then," Sean said with a laugh. "We could find 'im jail tomorrow morning in a cocktail dress 'er something."
It had been a little over a year since the three had first entered the pub with fake IDs of a mindset to fool whatever bartender was there into believing they were real. Unfortunately, they had encountered Al in the first one they entered, meaning no fool would be made. Fortunately, though, Al understood their effort, having done the same exact thing when he was fifteen and gotten away with it right across the street. The three were aspiring to become crooks themselves, and Al had unintentionally become something of a role model for them when he related his own story to how his career had started to them.
Pat shrugged. "I've only 'ad whiskey an' beer, I don't know."
"Aye, hang on a minute, there, how have yeh even had them?" Al asked suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. "I've not let yeh drink in here before, are yeh goin' somewhere else in yer spare time?"
"Yeah, home," Pat said defensively. "Me gran has a bad habit o' forgettin' to lock her liquor cabinet. It's gotten me grounded a good few times, but I can break oot easily enough. I'm supposed to be home now, an' she thinks I am, prob'ly. If not, she'll jus' change the locks on me doors an' windows again. No big deal, I'll just figure them out an' be done with it."
Al laughed. "She's trainin' yeh to be a fuckin' burglar and she doesn' even realize it, that's brilliant. I'm bloody horrible with locks. If I can't talk me way into somewhere I'll just give up and go somewhere else."
"Oi, where's me shot at? I paid for a' leas' five more!" A hiccup followed this, and the three looked over to see Don getting back on his barstool. He swayed slightly, but managed to keep his balance. "Tequila, please?"
"Not that yeh need anymore," Al said, indicating the glasses sitting directly in front of Don. "Yeh've already hit the floor twice. Mos' people stop after the firs' time they do tha', yeh know."
"Aye, fuck off, if I'd stopped after tha' I'd've not been payin' for more, yeh're encouragin' yer own bloody pub to go bankrupt," he said, pointing at Al accusingly, though he missed by about three feet and ended up pointing to a display of whiskey bottles behind the counter. "I'm no' entirely sure which one of yeh's encouragin' it, but Ah'd place me bets on all four."
Al crossed his arms as Don downed the first shot. He nearly lost his balance again. "I'm not givin' yeh any more after these, assumin' yer even still conscious by the time yeh finish. Yer already feckin' steamboats, I don't want to end up havin' ter close the pub down to drag yeh off to the hospital with alcohol poisonin'." His next shot did cause him to lose his balance, but he managed to catch himself on one of his elbows before falling over entirely. Al looked over the bar at him, then picked up one of the shot glasses.
"He's goin' to end up jumpin' yeh," Sean said with a laugh as he stood Don's barstool back up.
"Aah, ten quid says he won' even notice," Al said. "An' even if 'e does, it's not like 'e'd do any damage, aye? Besides, I don' think 'e could handle the rest of 'em on his own."
"I guess –"
He was interrupted by a clattering sound down towards the other end of the bar. All of them looked over, even Don as he got back onto his stool. The sound had been of breaking glass and the surprised yelp of the other bartender working that night. "Ah'll leave whene'er the hell Ah damn well feel like it, yeah? Yeh stupid bitch, feck off an' get me another pint, would yeh?"
Don and Pat both sniggered at the slurred, drunken yell, knowing what was probably coming. Al kept alert for any sign that he was going to have to toss someone out – it was something he hadn't had the chance to do in a while, so it sounded like a fun idea. Sean was quiet for another reason entirely. He looked at his brother, who was still grinning like an idiot, too wrecked to recognize the voice, if he even would have. The voice, even slurred as it was, was at least slightly recognizable. From where, he wasn't sure, but it was.
"Sir, I'm terribly sorry, but I'm not goin' to serve yeh anythin' else, yeh've 'ad more'n enough," Amy said cautiously from the other end of the bar. "Yeh prob'ly won't even find yer way home tonight as pished as yeh are now."
"Oh, yeh think so? Well, yeh seem a nice young lass, 'ow about yeh let me camp out a' yer place?"
"Look, I don't want ter 'ave to call the law on yeh, ya feckin gobshite, but I'll be glad ta if yeh keep it up."
"Oh, now Ah'm real shcared. Call 'em, then, why don' yeh?"
"All right, all right, I won't be callin' 'em down here – that'd ruin everyone else's fun. Yer still not stayin', though. Oi, Al! Li'le help'd be nice!"
Sean tried to catch sight of the man as Al dragged him off only a few minutes later. He was sure he knew that voice…. He wasn't sure why he was even curious, but there was something that made him wonder, than made him want to follow. He looked at Don, who was watching with amusement as the drunken man was, quite literally, thrown out of the pub. "I'll be back in a minute."
"Aye? Sure, wha'ever," he said absently. Sean quickly darted through the crowd, avoiding Al as he made his way back behind the bar. He was out the door in enough time to see the man turn the corner, and he followed quickly, but at enough of a distance so he wouldn't be spotted.
Al had just stepped back behind the bar and picked up another of Don's shot glasses. "Where'd yer brother head off to?"
Don shrugged. "'E said 'e'll be back in a minute. Yer not plannin' on throwin' me oot like that, are yeh?" he added with a laugh.
"I shouldn' unless yeh start throwin' pick-up lines at me, I might get a bit worried then. Yer fine fer now, but I'm still not lettin' yeh have any more tequila."
"Aw, c'mon!"
"Trus' me, yeh'll be cursin' me fer lettin' yeh have any to begin with come tomorrow mornin'," Al assured him. "Yeh don' wan' anymore than what yeh've got now."
Closing time wasn't very far from then – Al did manage to get Don to stop devouring the tequila before they had to clear everyone out at around half past midnight. Don attempted to help, but when he turned out to be more of a pain in the ass than anything else, Al sent him back over to the bar and left Pat in charge of keeping an eye on him. Al still had a while left before he had to lock everything up and leave, so he sent the rest of the workers on that night away. With the tavern cleared of all the excitement and hubbub, both Don and Pat were able to help a bit more. Don managed to balance his all out stumbling into more or less just an uneven gait that left him walking into things only from time to time when he wasn't paying attention, and Pat was the most sober of the three of them anyway.
"Three…" Al mused, looking out over the cleaned pub from a barstool he had just claimed. "Huh."
"Wha'?" Don said. Realization struck him quite suddenly. "Oi, did Sean go an' scarper on us? He told me 'e was goin' to be back in a minute."
"He left right after –" Pat began.
He was interrupted before his sentence was even halfway formed, by a loud banging noise. The three looked towards the back end of the pub as the noises continued – one, two, three, on up to six – then it stopped abruptly. That noise, it was familiar, all too familiar a sound for the back alleys of the town, but it was never heard this close to the main roads…. Don gulped inaudibly as sobriety hit him harder than a brick to the skull. He was the first of the three to stand from his barstool and walk to the front doors. He pushed one open and stood in the doorway. The cold air of the earliest hours of morning did nothing to settle the pounding in his head or the nervous, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as it rushed past him into the tavern. He had no real reason to believe that the gunshots had been… but at the same time, there was a gut feeling that something wasn't right, something wasn't right at all. There was something in the air of the dark night that held a sort of menace, a foreboding that something was simply not quite right.
The other door opened beside him and Al looked out and around. "No real reason to panic, tha' happens occasionally 'round here," he said slowly. "Usually some drunken bastard shooting at stray animals or somethin'." Despite the attempted reassurance, the tone of his voice didn't make things seem any less ominous.
There was a sound fast approaching, one of racing footsteps, coming from a side alley. Al looked at Don, whose eyes were fixated upon the opening where the alley spilled out onto the main road. He glanced over his shoulder then – Pat still hadn't moved. He wasn't quite as used to this sort of thing, not quite as accustomed to the idea that things like this happened outside of the news. Despite his penchant for following around Don and Sean for the fun of it, his grandmother did do quite a good job of keeping him from these sorts of happenings – she just hadn't done quite good enough of a job this time.
Al stepped outside the pub as the sprinter neared the main road. He emerged quite suddenly, stumbling, looked at Al, and took off in the other direction.
"Ah, fuck," he said. He looked back inside the pub. "That was that bastard from earlier I 'ad to throw out – I'm goin' after him, there's no tellin' what the bloody eejit could 'ave done back there."
"Then what –"
"Both of yeh stay in there, lock up until I get back. We'll not call the police down 'ere unless we 'ave to. Should be back shortly."
Don watched from the door as Al took off after the man, then shut and locked it as instructed. He wasn't at all nauseous anymore – how could he be when his stomach had just up and left him? A vein was throbbing at an uncomfortably fast rate in his left temple as he took a seat with his back facing the bar. That man… he hadn't recognized him before, but he probably couldn't have told his own brother from a donkey as he had been then. But now, from the glimpse of him Al had caught, he had been familiar. But from where? He shook his head, flipping through memories, searching for anyone with a face that might have matched, anyone at all.
"Was 'e sure that was the one who –"
"It looked like he was carryin' a gun of some kind, revolver I think," Don said, sitting back and crossing his arms to stare up at the ceiling. "If either him or Sean aren' back in more than two minutes I'm goin' to see what's happened. Yeh'll stay here with the doors locked," he added.
"But –"
"Oi, no protestin', yer only thirteen bloody years old and yeh have a home, there's no reason for yeh to be gettin' involved in this sor' of thing," Don snapped. Pat recoiled slightly, but protested anyway.
"But if that was –"
"If it was, then it was, the bloody idiot shouldn't 'ave left alone in the first fuckin' place!" He shook his head, standing up. "Stay here, yeah? Al's gonna need someone to let him back in, so'm I, and yeh might have to call the law as well. Lock the doors back 's soon as I leave."
"Yeh're mad…"
Pat sighed as he followed him to the door. He watched as Don unlocked everything without a single reply and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He shot Pat one more warning look – obviously to say he would literally toss Pat back into the bar if he did leave it at any point – and headed off towards the alley. Pat shut the door and locked it, then headed back over to sit at the bar. If this was something big enough for the police to get involved in, his grandmother would probably have bars installed on his windows. That was hardly what he was most worried about, but worrying about that at least kept his mind off of other things. Don was right – he had a home, he had no reason to get involved. But then again, they were like brothers to him. If anything bad happened while he was sitting alone, locked down like a coward in a closed pub, how could he not partially blame himself? He had to do something, didn't he? But he really couldn't…. He turned around on his barstool and rested his chin on the bar, glaring absently at the faintly glimmering glass bottles lining the back counters and shelves. There had to be something he could do. He really wasn't completely useless, was he?
He spent around five or so minutes away from the pub, withdrawn into a debate into his own mind, so much that the sounds of loud, sharp knocking upon the doors only just managed to summon him back to the reality of the moment. He turned quickly around and hopped off of his barstool to stare at the door in incredulity and surprise – no one was at the windows, but someone had knocked.
"Who's 'ere?" he called at the door.
"S'me, I heard gunshots 'at sounded like they were comin' from 'ere, what's goin' on?"
Pat grimaced, but walked to the door anyway. It was better to not let anyone remain outside with what was – might have been going on. Nothing was certain yet, and hopefully nothing would come of it. It was just a matter of waiting it out and hoping, praying that the idiot had just been shooting at stray cats like Al had said. The tone of voice he'd had definitely hadn't been reassuring, but the thought was definitely a hopeful one.
Pat unlocked the doors and opened them, then quickly shut them and locked them back up. He didn't turn away from them immediately when she spoke.
"I knew it came from 'ere, what's happened? Where're Don and Al and Sean?"
Pat gave a sigh. "Al's goin' to bloody kill me…" he mumbled, walking back over to his barstool.
The red-haired, rather short, rather hyper girl was a couple of years younger than Pat himself was, at eleven years old. She was a virtually nameless orphan from the orphanage only a couple buildings over from the pub where Al worked, and a couple buildings over on the other side of the orphanage was the complex where Al had his own flat. According to him, they had never filled out any paperwork on her and she had picked her name by flipping through pages in a book there and picking out one she liked. He had found her on a doorstep when she was a day old, when he was ten, and looked at her like a daughter – he hadn't refrained from telling Pat, Don, and Sean, when they had met her around a week after meeting him (she generally hung out at the pub after hours and on slower days) that he would gladly disembowel them and then strangle them with their own intestines if they ever hurt her in any way at all.
"Al went after 'ooever it was 'at fired the gun out back to find out what's goin' on – he had kicked him out earlier tonight when he started causin' problems. Don just left a few minutes ago to see if the shots were anythin' to be worried about."
"Wha' about Sean?" Katherine climbed up onto a barstool as well, and was now staring at the door she had just come through.
"He went off sayin' 'e'd be back in a minute just as Al was throwin' that drunken lunatic out. We'd jus' realized he was still gone when the gunshots went off."
She blinked at the door a few times, then looked over at Pat. "Yeh don't think that –"
But at that, the interruption of a pounding on the door was head. "Oi, open up, this bastard's feckin' heavy!" Both of them looked to the door quickly. Pat hurried over to the door and unlocked everything, then opened it. Al stumbled in and over to an empty chair at one of the many round tables scattered across the hardwood floors, carrying a rather large, unconscious man, slumped over his shoulder like a bag. He had a perfectly good reason to be stumbling, Pat thought as Al just barely managed to drop the drunk from earlier down in his choice of chairs, nearly falling over himself. He caught himself on another table with both hands, breathing hard.
"Fat fuckin' bastard…" he grumbled under his breath as he straightened back out. Pat watched, quite alert, in case he might have to jump behind the bar for cover, as Al paused to take a look around. He spotted Katherine, and a mixture of confusion and bewilderment overpowered the previously strained look he had been wearing. "Y– what're yeh –" he stuttered for a moment in disbelief. He paused, looking around wildly. "Wait, where'd Don – ah, fer fuck's sake, that stupid son of a bitch…."
"Did he say anythin'?" Pat asked, looking at the unconscious man slumped in the chair as the man's head lolled backwards and to the side slightly. Judging by the rather nasty red mark around the side of his head and blood seeping down from a scrape that came from just above his left eye to around behind his left ear, he probably hadn't just fallen asleep. However, he was definitely still alive, as his chest was rising and falling at a steady rate.
"Oh, bastard said quite a lot," Al said, shooting a glare of pure ice at the man. "We've got to call the law down, this isn't something we'd want to clean up on our own. An' you!" he added, looking at Katherine again, who recoiled against the bar. "What're yeh doin' here, it's after one in the bleedin' mornin'!"
"I – I heard gunshots, I jus' wanted to make s-sure –"
Al rolled his eyes skyward. "Ah, I'll deal with yeh later, more important things righ' now – Pat, find some duct tape 'er somethin', we don' want him bein' able ter move when 'e wakes up, trus' me on that. Kat, you call the local police department, number should be written down next to the phone. As soon as they get 'ere, I'm goin' to figure out what sor' of trouble Don's gone an' gotten 'imself into. An' if the police recognize me an' take me in, I'll be expectin' the four of yeh ter come an' break me out, yeah?" he added with a humorless laugh.
"So Sean's all right, then?" Pat asked, already heading behind the bar to rummage around for tape.
"If this bastard was tellin' the truth, 'e is, but we can't be sure we can trust him entirely…" Another venomous glare was shot in the direction of the man. Pat and Katherine looked at each other, wondering the same thing. Katherine was the one to, rather cautiously, ask.
"Do yeh know him or somethin'?"
"Tha's not important, just get the police down here, quickly now. Yeh might tell'em to bring a couple ambulances too, just in case." He bowed his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as a headache pounded around the inside of his skull. "Find anythin' yet?"
"Ah, not yet – ah, 'ere it is. Quite a bit of it, too," Pat said, straightening out and holding up a couple rolls of duct tape. "'Ere, catch."
"Jus' bring it over," Al said, waving a dismissive hand. "I'll prob'ly be needin' help with 'im."
Pat did as instructed, hurrying over with the duct tape. No one in their right mind would question Al when he got like this, and this was the worst Pat had ever seen him. Al secured the man's hands behind the chair by taping them together, definitely tightly enough to cut off the circulation in his wrists. Pat looked back and forth between the two. It was quite easy to determine that whatever the man had done, it had been more than just in-general horrible – Al had quite obviously taken it personally.
Opinions, suggestions, ect ect? Need translation of any colorful slang? Lemme know. I'm here to help.
And to write, of course :)