I was a little disappointed by the lack of reviews, but I've got followers, so I got that going for me...
Clint felt like king of the city, driving around in the Maserati. He drove to the bar with a decant neon sign saying Cavern in red letters. The bar had two entrances that were separated by a protruding brick wall. He parked the car nearby and walked out, buttoning his coat and straightening his attire. When Natasha looked up, she saw Clint entering and sighed quietly. He walked with an air of arrogance surrounding him that would make any guy want to beat him up. She could already predict that he was not going to be light since the majority of the people in the room were Russian bullies.
There were four small steps that led to the bar. The smell of cigarettes and booze was in the air as Clint looked around, quickly inspecting the place. On his left there was a counter with five stools. Natasha was sitting in one of them having a drink. On the right side, three tattooed, burly men accompanied by some women were smoking and drinking bottles of vodka. In the middle of the bar five men, all seemingly Russian, surrounded a pool table. In front of him was a long, dark hall that presumably led to Petrovitch's private room. Standing at the entrance of the hall were two men. Both had a firm stance with arms behind their back and legs slightly parted, dressed in a black tuxedo.
One of them was tall and brunette. Clint looked at him a little longer. That may be Dür he thought. The two locked eyes and Clint thought he vaguely recognized him, but wasn't necessarily convinced. He needed a way to talk with him and confirm it was Dür.
He needed a drink first before he did that. He walked to the counter. "Vodka," He said to the man behind the counter. "Or whatever the lady's drinking," he added, looking at Natasha.
"I'll have another tonic, please," Natasha said to the bartender.
Clint turned to her. "This is no place for a lady like you to be," he said, sitting down on the stool beside her.
"I know," she answered, leaning closer to his mouth, "but work is work, right?"
"True, but what kind of work someone could like you have to be here?"
Natasha smirked and didn't give him a response. She shifted in her seat and grabbed the tonic glass the bartender placed beside her.
"So," Clint began before stopping to drink his tonic shot in a single gulp. "Are you taken or do I still have a chance?"
"Well aren't you quick," she giggled. "And no, I'm not taken."
He got up from his seat and whispered in her ear. "I need to pick up a fight. A little help would be nice." Natasha slapped him so hard and loudly in the face that some men just hissed an "ooh". Clint massaged his cheek, her slap had really hurt. Still, he leaned over again. "Now fake interest in another guy. I'll take it from there."
He walked to the pool table and stood there, watching the others playing with his arms folded over his chest. A small smile played on his lips when they mumbled some things in Russian, clearly mocking him. In the corner of his eye he spied Natasha approaching another man. She was a master in persuading them and it didn't take long for the guy to be charmed by her, groping her ass. Clint had to admit that upset him a little. He walked over to the guy and gave him a push.
"She was talking to me," he snapped at him.
"Was," the man emphasized. "She's talking to me now, tough guy. Now go take a walk."
Natasha pretended to be legitimately scared at the eminence of the two starting a fight proving that she was, indeed, the best actress especially when it came to feigning fear.
"Make me!" Clint dared, raising his voice.
The Russian grabbed Clint's coat lapel and tossed him onto the floor, kicking him in the stomach when he fell. When he attempted to kick him again, Clint grabbed his other leg, making him fall on his back and smash his head on the floor. Quickly, Clint leaned over the Russian and punched him in the nose, not drawing any blood like he had hoped. Yet, when he was punched, his nose immediately bled. The others watched amused and didn't even consider of interfering. They knew Clint wasn't going to win.
But Clint didn't give up, even when the Russian pressed his foot on his ribcage and tossed him to the side making him slide on the floor. Clint was breathing heavily, trying to get up when he saw the man walking towards him. The Russian lifted him up with only one hand, squeezing his throat.
"Want to take a walk now?" He asked, pressing Clint against the hard brick wall.
Dür walked over to them and patted the Russian to let go of Clint. "Why don't we take this talking outside, gentlemen?"
As Natasha watched the two head down the hall, she figured it would probably be best for her to walk outside too and be ready to help Clint if he needed back-up. A third guy came to flirt with her, giving her the perfect chance to leave without arousing suspicion. She followed them out and stood by the corner attentively listening to everything around her.
Clint and the Russian walked along the dark hall Clint had seen earlier. Dür forced them to leave through the backdoor at the end of that passage, but its path turned right, continuing down a dark hallway. As soon as the door closed, Dür threw them against the wall and started beating the two of them. He started kicking and kneeing the two, initially just in the legs, but eventually their legs gave out, and they ended up being kicked in the chest.
When it got hard for them to breath, the two men collapsed on the floor. Dür gathered up his strength kicked the Russian's in chin, making his head smash back in the all. The Russian tumbled to the ground, unconscious, just like Dür wanted. Dür grabbed Clint by the tie, pulling him to his feet. "Who's got the ball?" He asked.
"It's isn't in my pocket," Clint answered and watched Dür take a deep, relieved breath.
"What do you need?"
"To meet with Petrovitch, make him a deal and get you out of here."
"I'll talk with him. Who are you?" He asked, wanting to know his cover story.
"Salvador Barsetti, Red Brigade."
Dür nodded and then asked him. "Why did Fury sign her for this mission? It's suicidal."
"She's my partner, we are assigned missions together," Clint said, getting defensive of Natasha.
"Well, then don't blow your chance. I've been here for eleven months and the moment I tried to wipe him out, I was almost compromised," Dür warned. He tightened his grip on Clint's tie, eyes boring into his.
"I won't," Clint reassured him. Satisfied, Dür let go of Clint and went back to the bar.
Clint got up with a lot of pain and groaning and staggered out of the alley. He saw Natasha standing there. He grinned at her weakly. "Hey pretty lady, I'm a little short on money. Can we share a cab?"
She rolled her eyes. "You've got a nice car over there." She tilted her head in the direction of the Maserati. Stretching her hand, she demanded, "Give me the keys." He handed her the keys and got in the passenger seat feeling miserable as Natasha took the wheel. "Where's your gun?" She asked.
"I'm not carrying one. They'd search me anyways. There's no point in having one. Drive to The Plaza, I'm staying there."
Ok, next chapter is M-rated but I won't be changing the story's rating just because of one chapter. Those who are not comfortable reading such things, don't come up for the next chapter.