John walked up the hill Officer Watsup told him to with little hesitation. There was little reason to hesitate. It left the few high-rises of the city, reducing the chance of ambush or blockades. By consequence, it reduced the chance of an ambush.
It still meant he was walking with his dog up a long hill, the sun beginning to set behind him. He'd prefer to have the sun in front of him as it set, making it harder for would-be killers to sneak up on him, the blinding effect of walking into the sun.
But that was not important. What was important was finding the bar Yolanda had told him of and Officer Watsup had guided him to. It was his next best place to find a means to leave Roanapur and further escape his pursuers.
Woof! His dog barked again, running ahead of him as he continued his trek up the hill. The road was unpopulated, so it was alright. His dog turned after he made a few lunges forwards anyways, turning around to stare at John, tongue out and panting.
John did not quicken his pace, only opting to keep an eye out on the dog that followed. Every time he got close enough to the dog to pet him, the dog ran ahead again, just out of reach. John did not understand, but so long as the dog did not run away he did not pursue.
"Easy boy," he spoke still, cautioning his dog. Over eagerness was bad when in foreign lands, or any land that you did not control. There were no rules in Roanapur, and that meant eagerness could lead to folly and downfall. He was too close, come too far, to risk such a thing now.
It did not help that the sun was soon setting, that the visibility of the terrain was decreasing. It increased risk, only more so now that he was in unfamiliar territory. No mapmaker in the City of thieves to help him.
It was an equal reminder that even if he found a ship tonight, any sailor or captain would take no action until tomorrow. He would need a place to stay the night, to rest and prepare himself. The roads in Roanapur where not the same as the streets of New York.
If he slept in the dark in this city, he would lose far more than respect or dignity.
Woof! John looked at his dog again, running in circles before running ahead then into circles again. He was eager to move forward, to speed up the pace. But John was patient, and there were reasons to not rush.
"Easy boy," he spoke again. "We're almost there." In truth, he did not know, but they were closer than they were before. But it was hard to tell in a dirty city in the dark.
All the buildings were similar, all the cars the same, all the shadows too alike.
Except for the one building alight on the hill.
It was not a bar, but a cantina. John had seen several of them before. He knew the difference well. It was a cantina with doors that doubled as open walls, a bottom floor twice as tall as the upper structure, and lights bolted, guarded, and secured to the walls like cameras in a bank.
It did indeed shine like a small beacon, a flare in an otherwise dark fire-fight, illuminating all around it. John could count the rounded pillars, the detailed arcs, the ruined chairs, the chipped walls, and the fading paint along the upper banner.
Yellowflag, the bar in question, was immediately and obviously clear.
John hummed as he stared at it, memorizing all the he could see. The exits, the entrances, the walls, the supports, the reinforcements, and the exterior barriers. Everything may be needed. It was not worth forgetting.
"C'mon boy," John spoke to his dog, petting his pet's head. Panting breaths with a slobbering jaw was his response. It was all he needed.
John's feet moved from pushing dirt to clicking tiles as he entered the Yellowflag. Despite the darkening sky, the bar was scarcely populated. Counting the barstools, the tables, and empty spaces about the interior, easily fifty to sixty adults could be present. There were hardly more than three present now.
That included the bar tender.
It was too early for the bar to be populated, perhaps, at least not yet. Ships came in late and people traveled in groups. Waiting for friends, waiting for others, the bar would be filled, if it was truly the place Yolanda said it was.
That meant he had time, just enough, to talk to someone else he needed. Those present were likely not the owners of boats. In a bar before busy hours were not the dwelling places for those active or focused.
The tender of the bar, however, was always observant. An observant man knew what others chose to ignore. In short, John needed to speak to him.
The vacancy of the cantina made the path easy, allowing John to sit at the poorly padded stool. He spoke no word of complaint. His dog sat on the floor beside him, tongue hanging out and observing those present.
"You're a new face," the bartender quickly spoke up. John looked at the man, thin and gaunt with a small line of facial hair. He was cleaning a bar of vodka, wiping liquid off the bottle's label. "Need anything before the bar gets packed."
Two things learned. First, the man was respectful, far more than the average citizen in the city of thieves. Two, he confirmed people were sure to come soon. That meant John only had to wait.
His eyes drifted to his dog, his companion having drooped until he was laying on the cool tile floor. It had been a long day for them, with a lot of walking involved for both.
"Water, please," John spoke simply, nodding his head with the action. The bartender returned the action, putting his bottle down as he grabbed a glass. John realized an error. "In a bowl, please." Now the man stopped.
"A bowl?" The man asked, lips curling far enough to twist the thin line of hair above his lip. "Buddy, all the crazy shit I see day-to-day, I'm begging you not to do something that crazy this early." John dedicated no thought to the man's insinuations.
"It's for my dog," John answered simply, motioning downwards. The man blinked, drawing closer to John and leaning over the thick bar counter. John watched, carefully, as the man stared at his dog.
His frame was thin from head to two, and no knives or guns visible on him. Very likely given the status of the bar and the city it was in that there was ammunitions behind the bar, likely high enough he could reach, grab, and fire within a few seconds.
"Geez, didn't even see him," the man's words brought Johns focus back to him, watching at the man leaned back to his side of the bar. "But I'm going to have to give you the bad news that pets ain't allowed in the store."
His dog looked up as if called, licking his lips before panting. John turned his own gaze to the bartender, looking at the man with a level glare.
It was a rule of the establishment, and breaking them often led to more trouble. However, following it was a risk for his companion, and he was not going to risk more harm to his dog.
"Is there somewhere he can stay?" Often the Continentals had places such as that, for cars, for pets, for visitors without coins to spare. Perhaps even a city of thieves had something such as that, in a cantina they all visited.
"You mean like a backroom?" The man asked. He scratched his head, twisting his lips and beard to match. "I mean, maybe? Can't say for sure. Wouldn't it be easier to just put him at your own place? You've gotta have a hotel room or something like that."
John did not have a hotel room or anything similar to such.
"Do you have a room upstairs?" John recalled there was a floor above the cantina. For what it was used for, he could surmise, but perhaps he could pay for a room there.
It was dangerous, however. A city of thieves was a city without honor. Even this man's rule for the bar appeared to waver at a mere suggestion. But if a suggestion was all it took, perhaps something more would allow it to bend.
"Hey now, I live upstairs," the man spoke with a thumb to his chest. "And this place is the only thing I got to my name." It was not much, but John could understand the dedication to keeping what you had.
The man, however, did not appear to see the understanding upon John's face.
"Don't give me that glare now," the bartender spoke, misunderstanding something in John's eyes. "It's the only set of rules I got in this place! I stay up there, guests stay in here, and pets stay out there!" His hand was pointing with his words, emphasizing his every action.
John realized the benefit now to speaking to this man before the crowd arrived. Would the sailors or captains be present, they would be off-put by the commission. That would reduce the chance for conversation, and there through any bartering for travel.
The quicker he was able to resolve this, the better.
"I mean no disrespect," John answered honestly. The man did not recognize him, so subterfuge language would be just as recognizable. "I am only looking for a place to rest and drink." It was part of what he wanted, but it was all the man needed to know."
"Huh? That's it?" The bartender deflated quickly at John's words. He watched the man carefully, keeping his gaze hidden, even under the ill-fitting hat. "I mean… that's… pretty reasonable of you." That was odd for a bartender to say.
For a man who dealt drinks to men who sailed on the seas, lived in the city, or stole from those in between, he seemed remarkably verbose with his words. But it mattered little to John. He needed a ship to sail and a place to rest.
"Sorry I'm just used to foreigners who come in here wrecking the place. It's almost like clockwork at this point." That was unfortunate, but it was no business of John's. "So… you're serious about following the rules?" In the city of Roanapur, that was reasonable question for the owner of a business.
"Yes," John answered with a nod. But there was more he needed.
His dog was still thirsty. That had not changed. Only if he could drink it in here or outside. John could wait outside, behind the bar or out of sight. He could wait with his dog until he started to search for the sailor or captain who looked willing to deal.
"Well that's good. About time someone came in here without planning to break them." The bartender tilted is head left and right, thinking about something John couldn't care to guess. He only wanted water for his dog now. "So… you got a place to stay then? Like, a place you can put your dog up in?"
"No," John answered simply again. He planned to find a place after he found a sailor. If the Triads still had good terms, they may have a hotel space he could afford for the night. The Cartel was a less likely but still viable option, depending on how connected they were with outside contracts…
"That's too bad," the man spoke again. "But now you've got me wondering why a sharp-dressed man like you is in a place like this." A reasonable curiosity. "Can't be planned if you don't got a place to stay." A clever deduction.
"I am looking for a boat." It was an answer John planned on giving several more times before the end of the night, to experienced sailors or greedy captains.
"A boat, huh? Tried the harbor earlier? You've got more luck there than asking in a bar." That was not what Yolanda had told him, per her instructions in gratitude. But then, perhaps this man was thinking in different terms than the nun of the Rip-Off Church.
This man was a bartender attempting a quiet job in a city of deceit. Yolanda was a nun masquerading divinity with death. One belonged to Roanapur far more than the other.
"But hey, I'm all about making good friends with good people. Only way I can keep my sanity these days." The last bit of his sentence was spoken under his breath, head shaking in dismay. It was unimportant to John. "You wanna make a deal?"
John squinted his eyes, watching the man carefully. Deals in cities such as Roanapur were often traps. Traps were what lead to high contract jobs on his life. He could not risking falling into another, not so quickly let alone so easily.
"This place is always a mess in the mornings, seeing as the drunks, fucks, and killers in here don't care too much about staying clean." Yolanda had spoke that the Yellowflag was popular with the underside of an already dark city. "Usually takes me the entire day just getting the place ready for the next night."
A problem for a business owner, not having the time to prepare for his business. But it was unimportant to John. He needed a boat and some water. His dog was still thirsty.
"So hey, I'll tell ya what. You can stay the night in a spare room I got upstairs." John listened. That was one of the few things he needed. "But you gotta help me clean up in the morning. Do that and we're square."
John could think of no reason to disagree. The man offered a place to sleep outside of Roanapur's shadows, at the cost of easing his job. It was a deal, no different than a job for his freedom, something beyond cost.
He was not in a place to lecture a man about the worth of his time.
"Agreed." John spoke a nod of his head. Said head turned when felt his dog nudging at his leg, tongue panting out as he did so. That was one more thing he needed. "May I have a bowl of water."
"Hey, shake on it first," the man spoke with a hand stretched over the gnarled bar counter. John inspected it for a moment, seeing no indentations for knives or needles, before shaking it. It made the bartender grin with shut eyes. "And yeah, I'll set your dog up upstairs, long as he doesn't make a mess."
"He won't." John knew he wouldn't. A lack of food made that difficult. Water was more important. But now that he had two things he needed, he needed a third for records. A reminder of who was his supplier. "May I have your name."
"Wait, shoot, I didn't give it?" The bartender actually looked shocked at himself. John waited patiently for him. All he needed now was a boat, and he could not get that until sailors and captains arrived. "Guess I'm not used to meeting new faces that last around here."
John did not understand the saying, but he took note of the man saluting him with an unprofessional posture. A mockery of the usual strictness of most military companies.
"Name's Bao, and the baby you're staying in is the Yellowflag, my pride and joy." Owner and operator, it seemed. Not too uncommon in the darker parts of the world, and Roanapur was one of the darkest. "So what's yours? Gotta ask if you're going to be sleeping for a night." A simple answer was all that was needed.
"John." He spoke, and only that. Any more was an unnecessary risk.
"John huh? That's forgettably plain." That would be a preferred outcome. "You gotta have a catchy name if you wanna be remembered. Kinda like Yellowflag. Who's gonna forget that?" He held out his arms with obvious pride.
John spoke nothing in return. He had no reason to speak. He still needed water for his dog and to wait for the sailors and captains to come in to drink.
"Kay, well, you coulda at least acted like you agreed." Bao deflated in front of John, arms resting on his bar. His eyes looked over the wood to John's dog, still nudging at John. "So, what's the boy's name? Bet that's catchier than John."
"He has no name." John spoke even as he petted his dog's head. It calmed him, and he didn't need his dog barking. He needed to approach the sailors and captains under neutral circumstances, not with wary eyes.
"Heh… I guess I was right. I'm not going to forget that." His chuckle was nervous, forced even. He eyes were diverting as well. "How do you find him in a crowd? Bark for him?" The man continued his nervous laughter
John did not see the point. He only needed water for his dog and to wait for the sailors and captains to come. That was all he needed at the moment.
"Okay, yeah, forced jokes are bad jokes, I get it." Bao sighed dejectedly. He scratched the back of his neck with his head hung low. "And… might be the worse time to remind ya of this, but the dog's really got be somewhere else when the major crowd comes in." John had not forgotten.
"Can he wait upstairs now?" John asked simply, simple questions for simple answers. The bartender gave a wide grin.
"Yeah, that was the kinda the deal." He hopped back in the bar, walking around the long plank of wood. John watched him, unsure still if the man was completely trustworthy.
Knives could be hidden in more places than under shirt sleeves. Guns in just as many and just as obscure of places. And this was Roanapur, the city where such deceit was to be expected.
But the man came up next to John with trepidation, hands on his hips and eyes on the dog. He had no obvious weapons on him still, even with more of his frame shown to John.
"Seems like well trained dog. Usually only see that from the Cartel." John hung on the name. Bao was familiar with them.
They were a powerful force in Roanapur before, but it was difficult to tell how much, if any, that had changed. If the average citizen such as the owner of the cantina knew of their employees, they were far from in hiding. Public showing of force meant strong ties beyond their eyes.
But in Roanapur, the barrier between the seen and unseen was blurry as bloody water.
"So, anything special I should be careful for?" Bao asked. "I'll be right back down, and you're goin' up eventually, but I don't him making a mess cause I forgot to close the windows or something." John did not understand the sentiment with windows.
"No." John answered simply. His dog was well trained. He didn't need much to be well care for. "He just needs water."
"Yeah, yeah, I won't forget that." Bao spoke, waving his hand. "You wanna pay for that now or later, cause the clean up only covers the room, not the board." John was familiar with the terms.
Instead of a verbal response, he fished into his fresh suit, looking for the coins all present in Roanapur had denied. He found the clinking gold easily, fishing out a single coin to give to the bartender.
John had only seen eyes widen so wide when guns were involved.
Odd to the man's character, he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he slowly reached out a hand, grasping the cold gold from John's. He let it go, letting the owner of the Yellowflag observe the thin piece of currency.
"… I recognize this." John was curious by those words. He could recall no citizen anywhere else that recognize the currency of the continental. Not even Roanapur from old had such people in it. "Some bitch when gender issues gave me one before. She kept waving her hands as she did it."
Ares. The man had met Ares. Before her ordeal with the Italians and the false hit on his name, she had come to this town and paid this man. John did not know what, and could think of no reason why.
Likely another contract that didn't involve him. It didn't involve him, so he shouldn't care.
But the man seemed far more hesitant now, an issue if anything. John had to retreat then. He had to take his belongings and-
"Whoa! Hey! I never said I wouldn't accept it!" The man pulled back his hand as John reached up, pulling the gold coin out of his reach. "I may need cash, but with the Triads in town, I can break this for a hella lot more than some burnable bills."
John relaxed, if a little, at the man's acceptance of the coin. He clearly did not understand the significance. That was good.
"So, yeah, this'll cover a bowl of water," Bao nodded quickly, his eyes far more focused than John recalled them being before. "Hell, I'll throw in a drink and somethin' ta eat if you're interested. Got a spare plate of potatoes from lunch." Leftovers. His previous lunch.
It was preferred to the scraps John had eaten from the trash cans before.
"Thank you." He spoke with a nod, brim of his off-colored hat hiding his eyes for a moment in the action. He could see Bao grinning when he came back up, pocketing the gold coin and snapping his fingers next to his dog.
"C'mon boy, let's get ya put up for the night." John's dog licked his lips, pushing off of John and towards Bao. His dog had good senses, so he trusted the man. The bartender nodded towards John once more before turning around, heading towards a rear door in the bar.
John watched the man and the dog disappear through it. It was a risk, of course, but the man had too many openings and too little fear about John to feign ignorance.
He did not recognize him, and as such, he was very unlikely to be preparing a trap for him. His dog would be safer in the upstairs room, away so that John could not be identified with him. He was a good boy, but he was not easy to hide.
That left John alone in the Yellowflag, save for a few individuals spread out about the cantina's interior. He noted them on entrance and they hadn't changed now. Barflies that appeared to already be inebriated from a day's drink.
Even if they recognized him, they would be easy to pass off as unsound in mind. John only needed to wait for the sailors and captains, then he could ensure a way out of the city.
"Back again," Bao spoke as he returned from the rear door. John watched him as he returned to behind the bar, a bright smile on his face. "And I got your food here for ya, too." The man set a plate out in front of John.
It was unappealing, compared to the usual meals served at the Continentals. It had no heat to it, likely taken out of a fridge only moments ago. Half of it was gone and John could observe the areas of the potatoes sporting fork marks and knife edges.
There was no glaze, no careful preparation, and very likely no dedicated plot of land the potatoes grew from. In a city of thieves, the produce likely grew next to unmarked graves.
But it was better than fly ridden meat or spoiled cheese. It was better than nothing as well.
John lifted a fork, carefully cutting into the potatoes, and ingesting them without word. They were cold and stale, but likely the most edible meal he'd had in days. He chewed the starch slowly.
"Yeah, not high cuisine. Sorry about that." Bao spoke, arms crossed and watching John. "How about I get you that drink I promised, to square up the gold coin, huh?" He winked with his words, stretched his thin mustache with the effort.
Fortunately, John knew what he wanted.
"Blanton, single glass, on the rocks" John spoke, pointing out the drink on the display. It had been weeks since he had a glass. If one was offered under the proper circumstance, it would only be proper to accept.
"Goin' for the high class stuff, huh?" Bao grinned at John's request. "You go the suit for it, so it makes sense." John spoke nothing, only waiting for his drink.
Bao pushed off the bar, turning to grab the drink in question. On a slow bar night, it made sense he would take time to prepare. John was in no hurry. He was only waiting for the sailors and captains to arrive.
Once they had, his drink would be discarded for the objective. Anything to allow him safe exit from a city of thieves.
"One glass of Blanton on the rocks," Bao spoke as he placed the chilled glass on the counter, pushing it towards John. He grabbed it with calloused hands, feeling the sweat of the drink already.
He swallowed sips of the drink, careful to not intoxicate himself. Too much too quickly lead to reduced faculties, often resulting in improper judgement. At critical times, that was uncalled for.
"So why are ya in Roanapur, John?" Bao asked as John held his drink. "May not be a place ya want to end up, but something put you here. It's gotta be something worth talking about if it shoved you to this pit of the world."
It was something John could not talk about.
He could not talk about the contract on his head. He could not talk about the rules he had broken. He could not talk about the assassins that still haunted him. He could not talk about the plan he had to escape.
He could not talk about using Roanapur as a guise to hide himself from his pursuers. He could not talk about the connections he sparsely used. He could not talk about the retirement he was looking to return to.
And, most certainly, he could not talk about where he wanted to go next.
"It's a complicated manner," John spoke in response, vague but pointed. He could see Bao twist his lips at the response.
"I'm hoping you've just had a string of bad luck." John eyed him carefully, drink stilling in his hand. "Cause at least that'd explain why you're so against having a simple talk. If you're dragging yourself out of hell, probably not a good time to talk."
He spoke from experience, likely. Because John could recall Helen saying so much the opposite.
"Then again, kinda hard to imagine you being in Roanapur for any other reason. Place isn't exactly in the top contender for tourist hotspot." He chuckled at his own joke, one that John did not share. "Well, take your time and relax. I'll show ya the room upstairs when your ready."
He tapped the bar before turning to walk down its length, leaving John alone at his stool. He followed the man, watching him pick up glasses and wiping them clean, stacking them for easy access. Preparation for a fight, the only fight a civilian such as himself was meant to fight.
John continued to take minute sips from his bourbon, holding onto the taste as it fell. Bao was an interesting man. Interesting, however, did not matter to John. He needed sailors and captains, not odd outliers.
And so far, no one new had entered the Yellowflag, though that was likely soon to change. The night was darkening and the few lights upon the road John could see were not alight. Already there were vehicles approaching, and he could only hope they were weary sailors looking for drink and conversation.
Methods and plans were all he thought about. Asking with gold short in hand, avoiding reasons and purpose. Specifying a destination by elimination of what wasn't available. Setting coin aside to ask Bao for drinks, if the captains needed such.
Captains would be ideal. Sailors could be denied requests. If a captain agreed, no one could argue. But captains often did not associate with sailors in off hours. A ranking system they attempted to enforce.
John could prepare for both. And he did, even as the first set of cars pulled around the Yellowflag. He listened to the engines calm. He heard people shuffling on the dirty road outside.
But he did not hear the jeers and banter of sailors from the sea. He heard something far worse.
"Hey Bao! Get a round ready ASAP!" A bombastic feminine voice yelled, slamming open swinging doors. "A shit day with shit news means we gotta fuck our shit up!" Her language was as refined as her manners.
"I'll get the drinks, Revy." The masculine voice was far calmer compared to its female counterpart, but lacking even a trace of baritone. "They'll be ready by the time you get a table." There were many free tables, so John did not understand the time difference.
But he did recognize the man's voice, and just barely the woman's.
"Oh great. Here I thought my evening was gonna be an easy one," Bao remarked, even as John watched him fish for a tall bottle of vodka, a Russian blend John recognized. "Least I'll be making a profit."
John said nothing. He was too close to Bao and the young man approaching them to speak. If he did, the man would recognize him, and he would not be able to speak to the sailors or captains when they did show.
"Good evening Bao. A full tray, twelve shots, and-" The mains' order was interrupted by the bartender himself.
"Yeah, yeah, I gotcha Rock," Bao interrupted with a tray in front of him, a dozen small shot glasses being filled as he spoke. "Only thing you and Revy are predictable with is what you'll get when you're here."
"Ha ha, thank you very much," the man, Rock as he was named, returned. John watched with his glass raised, hiding his face from sight. He could not afford to be recognized. "I will be sure to stop Revy from causing any damage today." A single bill was held out as he spoke.
"Same as every other day, I'm sure," Bao spat out, though taking outstretched bill. "Keep it down to one barstool at least. Anything more than that and I'm gonna have to send the bill to Dutch." John hid his every emotion at the name.
Dutch. These were the individuals who worked for Dutch. The man and woman at the Lagoon building.
"I'll be sure to do so. Thank you once more." The Japanese man bowed with the tray before returning to his companion. He had a straight posture and overly generous mannerisms. A far cry from the norm in a city of thieves.
"That better be the strong stuff, Rock. Cause there's no way anything less than fuck-your-brains-raw alcohol is gonna make up for today." Revy, the far more verbose of the two, yelled. She was heedless of the few others around her.
John did not turn to look at them. He did not twist his head to listen to them. He did not care for them. He only needed a sailor or a captain to speak to, the latter over the former. Companions to Dutch were unimportant, but they were a blockade.
"Sorry 'bout them." John looked to see Bao standing in front of him again, cleaning a glass with a dirty rag. "Regulars from Lagoon company. Long as Rock keeps Revy swimming in the booze, she'll only be hurting your ears tonight." He chuckled again at his joke. John did not.
It took little deduction to know that her poor attitude was because of him. She had her guns fixated on him at the Lagoon Company, ready to kill him if Dutch asked her. She was his muscle.
That meant she would bring unnecessary attention to him if she recognized him. Her companion likely would as well, though in a kinder manner. Both were bad.
"Don't worry too much about them," Bao spoke again. "Once the regulars start pouring in, they'll start chatting up a storm worth calling in the ships for." Another joke John did not care for, but the bartender enjoyed.
It only meant John had to wait for the crowd to come before he could move. A crowded space was a difficult space to maneuver in, but it was equally difficult to recognize faces. If he kept his poor hat upon his head, he would be alright. Likely, though not guaranteed.
But he still needed to speak to a sailor or a captain. He could not retreat until he had done so.
That only meant he had to wait longer.
Tilting the glass in his hand back, he emptied the contents of the bourbon. He let the liquid trickle down his through, avoiding gulps of the hot liquid. He could feel only the faintest licks of the alcohol, burning under his heart and numbness at the ends of his toes.
Putting the glass down, staring at Bao, John pulled out another golden coin from his pocket.
"Another."
Two Guns. That was her nickname. Given to her from Mr. Chang and spread by Dutch and Balalaika.
Two Guns Revy, the meanest bitch and cruelest mistress that ever set raised a gun in Roanapur. She got a birth in crowds, a pass from the cops, and free ammo from the dumb fuckers who thought they were faster than her.
She was the best and she knew it. All that being short of the top dogs like Balalaika at least.
Sure, she may not have Rock's smarts, Dutch's business sense, Balalaika's leadership, or Benny's computer skills, but with a pair of handguns and ammo to spare, she could take on anything from a ship full of shit-eating Nazis to a village of pig-fucking rebels.
And right now, that included the six-shot challenge with the 'bullet' to her 'gun'.
Revy grabbed the third shot glass and downed it as fast as she could, savoring almost the burn. It felt good, remaindering her that pain was a gain, and the gain was a numbness nothing could take away.
"PhuaaAA!" Her turned her gasp of relief into a yell, slamming the shot glass on the table. "Burns like salt in the wound! Bet you'll be saying that after I bet ya Rock!" Revy turned a snake eye to her partner, seeing the jap holding his third glass in his hand.
"I told you once before Revy, and I'll say it twice more." Rock shut his eyes as he threw back his head, taking the burning liquid down the chute. Revy could watch the liquid go down his gullet, the man taking it all at once.
The same way how she could see tears in his eyes when his head leaned forward, sucking in a breath of air.
"What's that you gotta tell me Rock?" She teased him pocking his forehead with a wry grin on her face. She let her canines show when he scowled at her. It was all he could to her, they both knew.
All of Rock's muscles were in his head.
"Somethin' about you'd be dead with me? Bout how your fag-fucking employeers would be roasting your ass without me? C'mon big boy, you can do it." She watched him seethe, pushing down the burn of the vodka.
"Don't…" Rock began again, licking his lips. Already parched at shot three? Talk about sad. "Don't underestimate a salaryman!" He yelled with a gusto that only he could make sound pathetic.
What wasn't pathetic was him chugging two shots at once.
"Shit Rock!" Revy spoke, sitting up as she watched him slam his head down. That got a few heads to turn. "I said this was a challenge, not a fucking suicide pact!"
She watched the jap squeeze the shot glasses in his hand, slamming them down on the table hard enough to make the last four glasses jump. Thank god none of them spilled. But fuck that, Revy had her eyes on the mad jap Rock!
Said man squeezing his face together like a gun was at his temple. With the fire in his throat, Revy bet it sure felt like it.
"GhaaA!" He gave a hoarse breath of air, spitting and gulping at the same time. His hands griped the side of the table, holding himself in place as he turned red-cracked eyes at Revy. She felt herself snarl at them.
"You're up." He said it with a glim grin. He said it like he'd already won. Revy knew how to fuck that smile up without a gun!
"So bottoms fucking up!" She yelled as she grabbed at two glasses of her own, tilting her head back as she opened her gullet. The rich vodka fell right in.
And her nose paid the price.
Revy grit her teeth and shut her lips to keep herself from coughing up the liquid, burning through her throat and flowing up her nostril canals. It burned like a tong from a fireplace was being stabbed into her ass. She could compare that pain!
"Gha! AH!" Revy spat out the air, feeling the fire turn solid ice in her throat. Felt that way at least. Big Sis talked a lot about ice torture for the traitors in Moscow, and now Revy had something to compare that too.
Her tongue swirled inside her mouth, wetting the dry parts that she touched, putting out fires and melting ice. Vodka was a fucking mean drink.
"Even as a sniper sight, Rock," Revy pointedly spoke to her partner. "You gonna pass out on six? Need me to get a gurney for your pale ass?" Japs were as white as snow, about as threatening, too.
She took a good look at Rock's seething grin, the red rims around his eyes doing a lot for his usually bored expression. Revy'd shoot up a salon if it meant getting that look on his face more often. Hell, she already did that like twice a month.
Cheers were filling up around her, the usual bastards and bitches cheering them onto to finish the dozen glass challenge. Revy didn't give a single shit about them. They'd be dead or gone by next week anyways. Facts of Roanapur.
Wait, when had the crowd gotten here? Whatever, didn't matter. Now they had cheers at least for the final shot.
"I'm not done, Revy." Grabbed at his glass, clenching it like it was his lifeline. It was the lifeline to Revy's respect for him at least. "Or are you goading me so you don't have to throw in the towel?" Revy clicker her tongue at that. Figures the 'salaryman' would use big words to make-up for small deeds.
"It'll take a hell of a lot more than that!" Revy grabbed her own drink, lifting it up and putting the rim to her lips. "Bottom's up Jap!"
Revy titled her head back. She let the burn take its course.
Her head was swimming with it now, like she was thrown into some sadist's ideal dream of a fire pool and ice bath. Her vision was about as straight as the grip on her Berettas and cloudy as ocean water.
A hand slammed on the table, keeping her up-right and from falling off the edge of the earth. Pretty damn sure that was where she was going to end up if she didn't hold onto something.
Least the crowd was cheering, a show like always. And cheers meant she was winning, or at least Rock hadn't gone done either.
Lifting her head, focusing her eyes, she saw her partner slumped on the table, glass in hand and head sideways. Revy's grin would've made Big Sis whistle.
"Fuck yeah!" Rey cheered, throwing her hands up into the air. "Ain't a fucker in this shithole that can out drink me, Rock! Especially not some salaryman!" The crowd roared with approval.
Rock didn't say a word though, just kept his head down. Poor fucker. Probably needed some water before her keeled over.
"Drink this, now." Revy looked up to see Bao putting two pitchers of water on the table, pushing one towards Revy. He had that same greasy grimace he always had. "Just make sure you drain yourself before you go stumbling outta here. I don't need Dutch calling me asking where his employees went tomorrow morning." Now that was a joke.
"Dutch ain't gonna call shit for us," Revy pushed out through a fiery throat. She grabbed the water though. Felt good just to touch. "Sooo much shit happened today he's probably making calls for everything from business to booty. Every 'b' in the dictionary."
"He'll want… us back," Rock managed to heave out in his collapsed state. Revy gave him wry eyes as she watched her partner bend and stretch to get his lips around the jug of water. Pathetic at everything but brains, like she said. "With John out there… he won't trust us alone for long."
"Shit, what do you know?" Revy tossed a shot glass over her shoulder. Someone might have yelled out, but with the now packed bar, there was no way to tell. Or care for that matter. "Dutch does business like the Terminator does murder. On point and always on the mind."
Revy put two fingers to her head as she said it, grinning like a wolf at Rock's beat red face. Like he actually took a beating. If that had happened, someone in the bar would've been covered in red instead.
"If John's dangerous… like you said… being alone… bad." Rock looked like he was doing the hardest pushup of his life on the table. Guess the vodka hit him harder than he thought. So much for the strength of a salaryman.
"Yer missin' a few words there, Rock," Revy commented, pointing at him with the same fingers that were up against her head. "Take it slow and just let the pain wash over ya. Wick's a hellofa killer, but he ain't stupid. Attackin' a bar ain't his style." At least she hoped it wasn't.
They hadn't exactly done a lot to get on his good side. No telling what a pissed off serial killer would do, at least when you knew you were the top dog in the world's pen.
"Then let's go… for gets bad…" Rock's hand flung itself out like a man throwing a life vest into the water. It flailed just like Revy had seen them do a dozen times before.
She shook it off of her the moment it touched her. Guess Rock was still lucky, because Revy knew she was too drunk to break his fingers without the rest of his hand.
"Fuck that up Buddha's ass!" Revy yelled as she jerked her arm out of Rock's hand. He was lucky she didn't shoot his fingers off. "I told ya, we're stayin' here until I feel like I got the bad end of a gang-bang! Keep that shit up and maybe I'll stay till we turn this shithole into one!" She pointedly ignored the look of disgust on Rock's face.
"Crazy two-guns into kinky shit, sounds like." Revy groaned as she let her head loll back. She knew that voice drunk as a mule. Better yet, she knew that voice if she was deaf.
And upside down with her head pulled back, she saw the Korean woman waltzing into the Yellowflag, stupidly long bangs of her eyes and a smile about as sharp as her knives. Too bad her brains were just the opposite.
"Aaaand Chinglish is here!" Revy threw her arms out at the Asian, her foot under the table's surface keeping her balanced. No amount of alcohol could stop what she'd been doing since she was a kid. "What kind of fucking are you here for? Drinks, booze, or solo acts?"
Even upside down, Revy could take a bit of pride in the revolting grimace the Triad member gave her. Always did her heart good to piss of a bitch.
"No here for fucking!" She spoke as she walked forward, stopping when her waist was even with Revy's head. That was too far for her, Revy finding herself leaning forward out of disgust. That was one way she wouldn't swing, even drunk enough to sink a sailor. "Here for information. To relax."
"Those ain't the same thing, Chinglish," Revy noted with a wave of her hand. "Get a lesson in basic speech 'fore you come fucking around like some blue-balled rapist." She could feel the heat off the woman. It felt good.
"Need relax because of info dumb whore!" She yelled at Revy. Too loud, too close, and too stupid a comment to make. Revy felt her thumb working her Berreta before she even looked up at the stupid Chink.
"The shit do ya need to relax 'fore?" Revy pushed through her lips. She just needed one more insult, then she'd have enough justification to blow the bitch's brains out. Mr. Chang could forgive her, probably. She'd have witnesses at least.
"She probably had a shit day like the rest of us, bitch." Revy's head swung all the way forward, slamming into the table. She knew that voice and boy was it the last voice she wanted to hear right now.
When she said she wanted to feel the bad end of a rape, she meant the physical, not the mental. She had enough of the latter already in her life.
"Fuck off, Eda," Revy groaned into the table. God knows if she could be heard through the now filled Yellowflag. The sound of a chair being pulled out told her that she wasn't. "Can't I waste myself the way I want to force once?"
"Fuck no," the American broad spoke up, probably with her usual shit-eating grin. She did sound like she loved her shit. "Specially after the shadowy shit I've seen today. Shit, I'm only pissed now cause you beat me to the hardline."
"Oh yeah?" Revy asked, tilting her heat till her bleary eyes made out the American hat on the pseudo-nun, currently out of her habit. "And what's the bad day you had? Bet you a pistol mine was the same or worse."
"I have knives. I take bet." Chinglish spoke up, to Revy's extreme distaste. The bitch needed to speak straight or not at all. There was no middle-ground with that.
"Shenhua, right?" Eda asked. They'd met. They'd had to have met. No way there were strangers in Roanapur, not after this long. "Unless you say some fucker damned enough to make Yolanda give a straight deal, you're gonna lose that bet."
Oh, that did sound bad. Still, Revy knew her had was higher. No fucker compared to the fucking boogeyman of killers.
"She's right ya know?" Revy spoke through grit teeth, head still resting on the table. "The shit we had to deal with today made me almost wish for a fucking rape. Least I coulda killed the fucker if he tried." Cause there was no way Revy could touch John. It was like comparing a puppy to a German Shepard.
"No, I worst." In more ways than one, Revy smirked. "I have boss yell at me. Demand mean things. Tell me get info or get hung. Never that bad. That bad now." That one Revy could piece together, and that didn't sound pretty up there.
Chang was a monster in sheep's clothing, if the sheep were black as night and filled with demon blood. The fucker could take anyone in a gun fight and had enough connections to start a war with Big Sis.
If he was threatening lives, shit was going down.
"Yeah, well… lemme just get Rocky here ta tell you 'bout what a fucking bad day it… was…" Revy's voice trailed as she twisted her head forward, only to see she was sitting across a vacant seat. "The fuck?"
Where did Rock go? No way in hell he'd go outta of here without her. The fucker had balls, but he'd straight-up diamonds to screw her over like that. And he knew it, or at least he'd better now it.
"Boy toy at bar. Have water." Revy followed Chinglish's dainty hand, seeing it pointing through the crowd.
Sure enough, there was Rock, holding another pitcher of water and something clasped in his hand. Probably pain meds. Like she said, all brains.
Looked like he was about to lose his though, what with how wide his eyes were and stiff his neck. Revy knew he'd just needed to buff out a big one to put him to sleep, let the hair of the dog to its thing in the morning.
"Ey! Rocky boy!" Eda, the bitch perked up at Rock's return, holding her arm out to doubtlessly snag him into her breasts. Revy knew she'd have to shoot Eda to stop her, and she couldn't trust her aim right now.
That was why she couldn't help but smirk when Eda backed up. Didn't take an experienced drunk to know Rock looked two heaves away from upending his gut. But man, Revy knew she'd pay top dollar to see the American bitch get sweltered in puke.
It'd easily be the best entertainment in Roanapur, minus a solid shagging.
"… Uh, sorry Eda," Rock spoke up, sitting down slowly. Probably afraid he'd fall off the chair. Man, talk about a light-weight. Guest Japs were like hurricanes when it came to drinking. Destructive all at once, then boring as shit. "Just… head's throbbing."
"Jap drink for shit," Chinglish spoke up behind Revy, causing her to click her tongue. Always pissed her off when she had to agree with bitches like that. "Sides, you no need drink. I need drink. Shit day needs shit drink." This shit again?
"Chinglish, for the last fucking time," Revy started, grasping the edge of the table as she turned around. Had to keep her head straight somehow. "Your day was a fucking walk across the rainbow compared to the shit Rock and I had to deal with."
"Willin' to bet I'd trade ya," Eda, the second bitch of the flock, spoke up. "Cause nothin's worse than see the almighty Yolanda tellin' ya shit and expecting gold."
"Oh yeah?" Revy was fucking done. They'd be talking like gossiping girls all night if they kept this up. And she had shit to do and people to fuck. "Hey, Rock!"
"Huh!" Rock shot forward, red rim of his eyes staring at her wide, but about as focused as one could be after chain shooting six shots of straight vodka. "W… what is it?"
"Settle this bullshit," Revy waved her hand at the dogs on hind-legs. "Why don't ch'ya tell them all 'bout the little visitor we got today? Ya know, the man Dutch had ta basically tell ya all 'bout?"
Rock shook a little at her words, it made Revy grin. At least he had the brains to realize how fucking wicked John Wick was. His eyes kept looking over his shoulder like he was gonna see the boogeyman there. Actually, not a bad bet with that mad killer.
"It was… John Wick." Rock spoke, head swinging back slowly and hand reaching for the pitcher of water.
Despite the damning name, the only half the bitches present reacted. Revy blamed the bastards and sluts around the rest of the for making too much noise to be heard.
"Shit. Bull shit. No shit worth naming." Chinglish spouted off. Guess she knew what the fuck was up. "Mr. Chang told me find info bout that man. You don't know. I don't need talk to you!"
Wait, what?"
"Mr. Chang sent ya here to look for Wick?" Revy felt her head spinning. Probably the vodka, yeah. "Why the hell he'd send you for that? Like sending a fuckin' puppy ta fight a bear." And that was her being generous.
"That's the same fucker that talked ta Yolanda!" Eda now, getting Revy to spin around. Not fast, or else she'd up hurl on her. That'd only be half as funny as Rock doing it, cause Revy didn't want a fist-fight with a puke covered bitch. "It took me the whole damn day ta get her to fess up his name, and she wouldn't stop smilin' like a druggy with it!"
"No shit…" Revy let out, imagining John Wick going to Rip-Off Church. Well… Yolanda had been in Roanapur for longer than Dutch, so it kinda made sense. "How'd you keep your shorts dry with that fucker 'round?"
"The fuck?" Eda asked, shaking her head dismissively. "Didn't talk to the bum. All the douche did was talk in some blah-blah code that Yolanda picked up like a fresh fifty." Revy was like fifty percent sure 'blah-blah' was her mind talking.
"Why hot shit? Why be scared?" Chinglish asked. Revy felt her head get heavy again. Guess neither of the bitches new power when they heard about it.
"John Wick is the scariest motherfucking killer in the god-damn world." Revy took a gulp of her water, letting it wrinkle down, else she really would puke. "Puttin' it in worlds both of ya will get, the dude took out two entire fuckin' gangs in New York, in a night. Ask your owners if ya doubt that."
"I say more bullshit," Eda spoke up, probably for Chinglish. "No one does that shit. It's impossible, as in he'd be a dead man walking."
"Fucker did it, bitch!" Revy yelled at the blonde broad. "And ask Chinglish why Mr. Chang is pissed enough to threaten people if John Wick ain't a big deal!" She pointed a finger at the Triad whore, who wrinkled her nose. Pretty princess bitch.
"Mr. Chang cautious, not scared, ho!" She had her hands on her hips. "Be ready for bad things. Not bad idea." Kay, yeah, but it was if ya poked a sleeping dragon!
"Rock, back me up on this!" Revy turned towards her partner, seeing him with his eyes over his shoulders again. The hell! "The fuck is back there? Some hot ass ya wanna pull into a booth?" She'd shoot the whore if there was one.
"Huh? No! No!-Hrgh!" Rock stood up, only to slam himself back down. The vodka wasn't working well with his lies. Guess everyone had a lie detector of some kind.
So, there was a whore Rock had eyes on? Guess Revy had to put her guns to someone tonight.
"Yeah, sure, sit tight Rocky," Revy let out, standing up as much as her legs would let her. "I'ma goin' to wreck the Yellowflag again, this time with bitch blood." She wobbled on her feet, but she began to push her way to the bar.
Most of the bastards in the place knew not to get in her way. Blow up anything enough times and even a monkey knows that fucking with you is bad for its health. She just had to prove that now on the whore-bag that tried to get in Rock's pants.
"Hey! Bao!" Revy shouted as she got the bar's edge, a nice little gap being made for her. "Who'se lookin' at Rock?" The bartender just gave her the usual look, the one that scream 'the fuck is wrong with you'. "He wasn't lookin' right, so I gotta smash in the face that did that, ya know?"
"You're in for a rough night then," Bao returned, sneering like he owned the place. Guess he did technically. "Cause the alcohol isn't something ya drink to look better." Well that was a point. Still, she knew one-for-one. And the alcohol wasn't the one that made Rock look like that.
"Well someone was fuckin' with him," Revy pointed out, leaning on the bar counter. "So just point out tha bitch and I'll be goin'… goin'…" Her eyes scanned the bar stools and landed on someone who didn't belong.
Wasn't a whore, not even a slut. Wasn't a woman at all. It was something that made Revy's alcohol drowned mind feel clear as day, and cold as ice.
She was looking eye to eye with John Fucking Wick.
He had on a new suit, a new suit and a fucking disgustingly bad hat, but with the same beard and straight gaze that she saw earlier. The same gaze that said 'I could kill you and they'd help me burn the body.'
A glass of alcohol was in his hand, held up as he glared at her over it. He wasn't moving, he wasn't talking, but he looked like one hell of a cool glass of water. Revy felt like the iceberg that was surrounded by it.
Her tongue moved uselessly in her mouth, swirling as she tried to wet her pallet, something to keep her from making a deadly mistake. Attacking was a mistake, talking was one, too. Maybe leaving?
That… that was probably what Rock did, just turn and walk away. John Wick… wouldn't kill her here, not without a reason. So… she should leave.
Her hands pushed off the counter, eyes tracking John as she stepped back into the crowd. He kept his gaze on her as well, watching as she let the useless bodies separate them. When he was out of eye-sight she turned hers back to her partner.
It took only a glance at Rock for her to get why he looked spook. No big wonder if he thought the same. Couldn't same the same for the bitches intruding on them.
"Now what's up with you?" Eda asked, the bitch looking at her like she had some grand plan going on in her head. Nothing up there but cum and buckets. "You're lookin' like you shat yourself at the counter? Got something you wanna confess?" She could eat shit with that grin, that was for sure.
"Quiet bitch," Revy just growled out, sitting down as she kept her fingers tight and eyes on the location of the bar. If she was gonna be shot, she wanted to see the fucking gun. "Just… shut up.."
"Why bitch so quiet?" Chinglish asked now. "No bitching from bitch. Not like you. Speak up!" Revy didn't want to. She didn't have a clue what Wick's trigger was.
"Please don't be so loud," Rock now, speaking like he knew what to say. Wasn't entirely wrong, Revy knew, but hell if these two would get it. "We just… saw something bad." That was like saying a Draganov Sniper was a BB-Gun.
"Bad, huh? A whore stacked enough ta through you off?" Eda asked. Revy almost wanted dare her to go up and say that. But she didn't want to get killed by a raging fucking demon. "C'mon, you're the only ones bein' quiet, and it ain't nearly as nice as I'd thought it'd be."
"I said shut the fuck up!" Revy shouted now, slamming her fist on the table. It got Eda to jump, but that was about it.
Cussing and screaming were par for the course in Yellowflag. No way was anyone gonna turn around for anything less than gunfire. Tonight was not the night she wanted to prove that.
"Geez Revy, calm your tits and ass," Eda waved off. "Stop actin' like I kicked your clit." If that meant the fucking monster at the bar was an illusion, she'd take it. Maybe kill Eda afterwards, but it was a hell of a trade.
"He was at the bar." Revy almost flipped the table at Rock when he spoke. "John Wick is, up there now. I… we both saw him. Saw me." He chugged his water. Wasn't gonna make him forget anything.
Then again, knowing her partner, he was probably trying to sober up faster than any god would allow.
"Dumb man at the bar?" Now that Revy wished John heard. Seeing Chinglish getting capped would be gold. Then again, she'd probably be going with her. Not a fun ride to hell. "I talk then. Mr. Chang ask, I give."
"No!" Rock shot up. Of course he did, the fucking pacifist. "Don't! If… If what Dutch and Revy have said is true, that'll be extremely dangerous!"
"Be quiet Jap!" Chinglish fired back. "Mr. Chang ask, I deliver. No discussion!" Then Chang was gonna have a lot to tell the rest of the Triads come morning.
Cause there was no way John Wick was going to…
John wick was… walking by them.
Revy looked up and saw John Wick walking right behind Rock.
Not towards him, thank whatever god was glancing at her at the moment, but behind him. Just… past them. Rock must've seen her staring, cause he turned to stare as well.
No mistaking it, not after the near brown-pantsing experience this morning. It was still John Wick, in a suit that looked way better and a hat that was even worse than the fucking rag. Just… walking past them.
No threat, no gun, nothing… It had to be a trap.
"Hey, that him?" Eda asked, pointing at John. Revy would've slapped her, if Jon wasn't doing it with her eyes. Oh, yeah.
John had stopped and was staring at them, at Eda.
Revy couldn't tell what he was thinking, but there was no way it was good. No killer like John Wick, fucking terrifying enough to have Mr. Chang and Balalaika steering clear of him, would stop and think about anything else other than how to fuck up someone who insulted them.
And Jesus Christ, saying nothing, even in a bar as loud as hurricane, wasn't easy on the ears. It made Revy's arm itch.
"You big man? You Mr. Chang mad at?" Chinglish now, looking at him presumably. Revy didn't want to turn around and check. "You no big. You small fry. Why Mr. Chang want you?"
Revy scraped her fingers over the table as she watched Wick stare at the Triad member. His eyes were narrowing, his gaze focusing.
He was going to attack. He had to be.
John Wick was planning, right now, on how to kill them all. He was going to kill them and Revy knew she had about as much chance as a fight against Mr. Chang or the entire fucking Hotel.
Rock was dead as stone, and he'd be deader than that if a fight broke out. If that maid could kick the ass of everyone up and down the way, than John Wick was gonna turn the Yellowflag into a flaming pit.
Revy had to get ready, she had to do something. Because if she didn't, he would.
John Wick could kill Eda and Chinglish before she raised a gun, then take Rock hostage. He could roll a grenade under the table. He could murder them all with four double-taps with whatever gun he had!
But then, he walked away.
Revy blinked, shook her head, and almost fell out of her chair. That was not what he was supposed to do. The most badass killer in the world? Walking away from insults?
He was supposed to pull out a knife, or a gun, or say something that was gonna make the bitches heel like sluts. Not… nothing!
Revy watched him, feeling her every once of the respect for the man die faster than the Nazis on that warship or whatever.
This was John Wick? The fucker was taking insults like slabs of bacon. It was fucking pathetic! He didn't even give a threat or glare! He was just walking away like it was a Tuesday. It was Friday night!
"Pathetic," Eda spoke up, snorting. "How the fuck Yoslanda had respect for that is impossible to get." Revy had to agree with the blonde bitch now. She just… wasn't getting it.
Was this like that kid's game, Telelphone or whatever? Benny tried telling her about it on a drunk stint once. Made about as much sense as putting fifty calls in semi-automatic pistols. Break your arm trying.
Revy just watched him go, looking at legend that was about true as hell.
VRRRR!
And then she watched a Russian Jeep pull up.
It came out of nowhere so fast Revy was sure it was her brain halting for a sec. She had to shake her heard to make sure she was seeing what she really was. But even on shake three, the jeep was still there.
That was Hotel Moscow, no doubt about it. That was Hotel Moscow's jeep with a fifty-caliber mounted machine gun on the back. That was Hotel Moscow's jeep that was pulling right up to John and coming to a dead stop.
"Oh shit," Revy felt herself whispering. Something bad was gonna go down. Guess with how he was acting, it was gonna be the "legend" John Wick. The bar got dead quite to match. Guess they knew when she was up, too.
"The hell is the Hotel doing here?" Eda asked. Bad question. More like how the fuck did Big Sis figure out that John was here. Then again, this was Big Sis they were talking about. She knew shit Revy didn't even dream about.
"Fuck up white boy, that what," Chinglish answered. Wasn't wrong. Didn't look like it'd even be hard, given the half-assness of John right now.
The doors to the cab opened, four of Big Sis's men stepping out. John just held still as they got out, one coming around from the back and two stepping out towards him. And one of them was on the gun.
Thing was, these weren't the guys Balalaika had helping move crates at the Lagoon Company after a job. These were the fuckers that Revy saw holding guns and guard. They at least looked the part, dressed up and decked out to the teeth.
These were not fucking new-bloods. Big Sis was sending premium cuts over here.
Fuck. This wasn't them coming to drink. They were fucking here for John.
"John Wick." One of them said, one of the goons Revy didn't talk to a lot. A look at Rock told him he did though. He was better with faces than she was.
The "legend" didn't say anything back. He just stood there with his stupid old suit and god-shit hat. He wasn't even reaching for a gun! He was the only fucking one!
The dude who came out of shotgun had some Russian-modded Uzi, the other guys had to have the usual pistols. And she was not about to forget about the heavy artillery. They looked ready for a fucking fight, minus their lack of combat greaves.
"Come with us. The Captain wishes to speak with you." His accent was thick, but there was no way John was going to miss what the dude meant.
Balalaika wanted to see him, and these guys were the fucking hearse for his body. If he didn't get fucked on the streets, Big Sis was gonna fuck him in a Russian camp.
There was no way out. No way out that got John what he needed.
He had moments to decide.
Four soldiers, Russians. Either ex-military or KGB. Each had small-arms with two having semi-heavy munitions. They were too far to run at. He had no gun.
He had seconds to decide.
They were not firing because they wanted to protect civilians. Leaving with them was not an option, as he would not survive. He needed to survive.
He had a second to decide.
First soldier was closest, unprepared from the left. Kept alive, he'd be a shield. Flanking friend needed to be foot shot for speed. It would offer 2-3 seconds of disorientation. Then the semi-heavy munitions needed to be taken out. Priority shots. Then the two front soldiers could be executed.
It was good enough.
John chose.
"Give me your-" The Russian reached forward with his free hand, grasping for John's elbow. As he did, John reached out and slapped the extended gun. Minimal movement and force.
Once contact was made. He leaned forward and slipped his hand in, pushing the gun towards the flanking comrade and depressing the soldier's finger.
BANGBANG!
"Gah!" John heard the Russian soldier fall to the ground, the one he grappled with not moving to disorient John with blows to his head. He was too slow. Too ill-prepared.
John slammed his head into the Russian's mouth, quickly following with a blow to his hyoid bone as he reeled back from the blows. All attention the Russian offered was now for his wounds.
John easily wrenched the gun from him. Tokarev, 7.62mm caliber with 12 rounds, modified. Eleven shots remaining.
He quickly shoved the injured man's shoulder, spinning him around. His arm immediately slipped under the Russian's shoulder and surrounded the man's throat, placing him in a modified Nelson. Restricted movement at risk of further injury.
Chi-Chink
His ears heard the heavy artillery of the back van being cocked. They would hesitate minimally before firing. Russians cared not for bodies, but results. He would have 1-2 seconds to fire.
"Engag-" the Russian atop the heavy artillery yelled, aiming at John through his sights. Well-trained, but unpracticed. Too long for engagement, too open for artillery combat.
BANG!
John fired once, iron sights of the Tokarev pistol aimed at the man's left knee. Debilitating injury was gaurenteed. The gore of impact was immediate. Wasn't lethal.
Four combatants still remained. One restrained, two recovering, and the last now engaging.
The man had waited for assumption the heavy artillery would engage. With the operator temporarily disabled, he quickly stepped in. Minimal hesitation, high-training, well-organized.
Ill-prepared.
The Russian was raising a small-arms automatic weapon at John. Quick fire, low accuracy. Required a moment to aim properly. Well-trained soldiers a quarter of that. These were well-trained soldiers.
John lifted his feet from the ground, pulling the man he was holding and himself down to the ground. He had eyes on the man the distance he fell. It was not a move often trained for. The able-Russian was not ready.
BANG! John fired a round at the man, gun aimed over the head of the disabled Russian he was still holding in a restrictive manner.
The round hit 1mm above the sellion of his nose. It was an instant neutralization of the combatant. He was too far removed from the other three targets to need worry of his weaponry being lifted.
John swung his hand over his head, twisting on the ground until his arm was parallel with it. The chamber of the pistol was now aimed at the first Russian he had fired at, the man just taking aim with his weapon now. Too slow.
BANG!
John fired again, hitting the man through the frontal section of his skull, likely exiting through his neck. Instant neutralization of the enemy, leaving only two.
The risk was the disoriented Russian at the heavy artillery. Heavily trained meant dedicated to remounting the weapon. He was the priority.
Releasing the injured man, john quickly rose until he had one foot and one knee on the ground. A solidified stance for straight shooting. His hands wrapped bout the pistol as he aimed at the man at the artillery.
The man was having difficulty standing, one leg disabled and vehicle likely modified to holster the weaponry, not designed around it. Footing was uneven, and therefore, difficulty to maintain when footing was compromised.
John capitalized.
BANG!
"GAH!" The man shouted as John shot his opposite knee, crippling him. The man fell backwards out of the truck, landing with a dull thud on the ground behind it. He was no longer a priority, but he was not neutralized.
That left two targets to be eliminated.
John stood to his tallest, walking over the man still clutching at his throat, thrashing violently. The Tokarev pistol moved over his temple.
BANG!
A through-and-through shot to the temples. The disabled Russian was neutralized. That left only the crippled Russian behind the armament.
Likely armed with a small arms fire, but without cover. He would fire indiscriminately if John approached. A distraction before a kill shot was necessary.
John quickly approached the armed vehicle, hearing the man crawling on the dirt beyond his vision. It gave him a location to aim at. Eyes were not necessary. Blind fire to reduce risk, but not guarantee kill shot.
BANG!
John fired his gun just as quickly as he wrapped it about the end of the Russian vehicle. He could hear the impact of flesh, showing a hit. But the lack of vocal output implied a kill shot, but it was unconfirmed.
He conducted a ghost peak, seeing the man lying on the ground behind the truck, unmoving. His gun was out of his hand, at his side and unflexed. If not dead, still not able to fire.
John approached with the pistol, raised aimed at the man as he slowly drew closer. Two shots were confirmed on his legs. A third was on the man's chest. Too low for a kill shot. He wasn't dead.
BANG!
John placed another shot through the sellion of his nose. A confirmed kill.
He ejected the magazine from the pistol. Three rounds remaining. Kneeling, he quickly took the sidearm of the dead man, doing the same to his gun. A full magazine, matching calibers. He pocketed the magazine into his pocket.
The combatants were dead, he was unharmed, but his primary goal was now ruined.
It would be impossible to talk to any sailors or captains now. No one would approach him within distance of hearing the fight. Even in Roanapur, bullets ended conversation.
John turned towards the Yellowflag, looking into the cantina.
Nearly all present had guns trained on him.
His eyes quickly assessed and counted, marking what he could see from a distance. Despite gender or stature, all were armed with small-arms weaponry. Nothing larger than a Ruger Blackhawk revolvers, but all with enough firepower and caliber to kill.
None had fired though. John had counted the bullets in the fight and no bullets had originated from the cantina. All had come from his gun. They had not fired and still did not fire.
It was not to preserve the life of the Russians. But they did not look to approach him either. That meant they were not looking to kill him or capture him.
They were telling him to go away.
His dog was inside, upstairs and out of their sight. The likely route out of Roanapur was in there, but no one would speak with words. He could only leave.
He could only leave another failure behind.
John did not have the firepower to take the cantina. Too many bodies and too few rounds. There were likely killers present, well-trained as well. If he tried, he would die. He had no plan to enter, and therefore could not enter.
He had to leave. He had to leave now before they fired.
John walked around the Russian vehicle, stopping at the man who had exited from the driver's door. He reached down, patting pockets and finding the keys to the vehicle. It was his way out.
Another glance towards the Yellowflag confirmed none present were approaching him. It was likely fear they that kept them away. For now, that was just. He could escape with their fear.
He could leave all that he had searched for behind and return later.
He had to.
John stepped over the Russian's body, entering the vehicle. Manual transmission, three gears. Inferior power for on-terrain speed, likely poor handling, but with durability designed for heavy combat. A shield if necessary, or cover for a moment.
The engine roared to life as John twisted the keys, his foot finding the clutch and hand on the stick. From park to gear one, he set the car in motion, driving down the dirt road with the poor lamination of the headlights.
He had failed again.
He had started another war. Now in a city of thieves and murderers.
He was a fool.
Revy could've killed him. She should've killed him.
She had her gun trained on the fucker through the whole fight, especially when he was done. When he was standing above four of Big Sis's men with their guns in his hands, she could've killed him.
But she didn't. No one did.
A bar full of killers and murderers and not a single fucking one of them pulled the trigger. Didn't mean shit how many guns were on the dude. Bullets killed, not guns.
Guns shot, bullets flew, and John Wick murdered.
Four Russian mobsters, trained with and by Balalaika, by Big Sis. John Wick, the fucking Boogeyman, had taken them out like they were just punks. The fucker didn't even pretend that it was hard. He looked fucking bored.
He looked so fucking bored he drove off like it was a fucking Sunday-afternoon drive. The number of shits he gave to the whole thing was lower than what Revy gave for Chinglish's words!
And as if that wasn't enough to turn her from gang-bang drunk to Christian-devote sober, then the silence of the damn bar was.
Only time the place was ever quiet was when everyone inside was dead. Now it just sounded like it.
They all had their guns out, fucking everyone from her to the creeps that hung out at the titty-bar. Even fucking Chinglish had a knife in her hand like it was gonna do shit to John-Fucking-Wick.
"Fuck me…" Eda finally spoke, looking at the retreating car. Revy just took it as a sign to swallow grit her teeth. "He fucking… fucked them… pretty much pissed on their graves!"
"Fucking hell and all that's there."
"Jesus Christ."
"Alluh Iblis."
"No good. No good!"
The bar started to pick up, guns being put away about as carefully as a veteran gang-member handled a whore. They were shaking, all of them were shaking.
Jesus Christ, she was shaking.
It was like watching Mr. Chang go to town on a bunch of wannabes at the Lagoon Company, only this time it was with fucking real soldiers and not punks with over-compensation issues.
"You! Bitch!" Revy turned to see Chinglish staring at her, snarling like this was somehow her fault. "You talk now! How bastard whitey do that?!" Revy felt herself snarl like a bitch. A bitch with a heat for guns!
"How the fuck would I know, bitch!?" Revy yelled, standing till the chair go knocked over. "That's the fucker I was scared of! If I had half a fucking ounce of know-how to the magic he just pulled, I wouldn't be getting ready for another round of shots!"
Oh yeah, she needed that now. Screw the gang-bang. She was going to make herself feel like a Cartel sex-slave for the night. Fucked up until up was down.
"Balalaika's gonna be all over this place soon," Eda spoke up. To who, Revy didn't give a shit. "She's gonna tear it like a new asshole on an American twat."
"No… she won't…" Now Revy looked over. Rock was talking, and it sounded like the one good muscle in his body was being put to use. "Balalaika tracks her vehicles. She'll find John because he took her car. But if he's as experienced as everyone says… saw… he'll lead to a trap." A trap?
"Whoa Rock, chill the fuck out," Revy turned over and put her hands on the table, leaning over to her partner. "Are you talkin' 'bout John attackin' Big Sis?" No matter who the fuck it was, that was a shit idea.
"No, not directly," Rock went on. "But maybe… I-I don't know." His head hit the table with his palms over the back of it. "I don't know anything about him. I-I've never even seen him before today." Call that the one blessing God ever gave the Jap.
"Bal-bitch will attack," Chinglish spoke up now. "She no play dumb when hurt. She bite back, hard. City be a shit show now."
"Shit show?" Revy asked. A chuckle pushed past her lips. "Chinglish, shit show ended when Wick body-bagged four of Hotel Moscow's guns. We're skippin' right on past to shit-storm with a piss topping."
"Fuck this, I'm outta here," Eda spoke up, pushing the table hard enough to jar Rock and Revy. She snarled at the nun-for-hire. "Gonna pay up every day with Yoslanda to get the shade on that bastard."
She was gone before Revy could say a word. Good, less noise to worry about.
"WHAT!" Revy looked up to the bar. Rock did, too.
Bao was holding the phone, looking at it like death had just told him he had a few seconds to live. If he was giving the bad new to Big Sis, he had less than that.
"Balalaika," Rock spoke up. Looked like good minds thought alike afterall. "She's likely giving orders to shut the bar. Reducing collateral and profit."
"Me go then," Chinglish spoke up. Revy didn't even give her a glance. "Mr. Chang know now. This bad, shit hole bad."
That left her and Rock at the table with empty shot glasses, and Revy with a really strong desire to pay Balalaika for a job. If it got her out of the city for the week, that'd be good.
No profit or worth in trying to kill demons like John Wick. Better off cutting loses and running away.
"Hey! Hey!" Bao yelled again, this time waving his hands. Revy squinted at him, and the rest of the bar for that matter. Guess there was something to say. "I… I-I got, um… orders from Balalaika."
"We don't work for Fry-Face!" Some dumb soul yelled up. He'd be dead by day's end… night's end, whatever it was.
"We aren't lookin' for jobs after that fucking mess!" Someone else yelled up, probably pointing at the bodies on the street. Bad move two.
"She's paying big!" Bao kept yelling. He's probably worried about the bar. Good fear. Revy was just afraid for her life. "She's offering a cut of that man's bounty!"
Bounty? On Wick?
The Yellowflag took into another talking storm, but Revy just had eyes on Rock. His gears were turning, she could tell. Where the hell they were spinning to, she had no idea. Just have to ask after this.
Still, had to be one hell of a top dog in the world to put a bounty on Wick, and still be alive for it.
"What's the bounty?" Bad question, you were supposed to ask the cut. What a novice. Big bounties could always be cut down to beer-worth sums. Not even enough to get a glass of good vodka. One percent of one-hundred kay could pay her rent for a few months at best.
"Seven Million Dollars!"
Revy heard glass shatter. That was big enough.
"Fucking hell." Revy looked at Rock. Him saying that was a big deal. She didn't need his brains to know why.
Roanapur was gonna be fucking warzone by morning. Every fucking member of the Yellowflag and their lackey's looking for John? With the Hotel and Triads probably joining, thanks to Chinglish?
"We gotta go," Revy spoke up, standing from the table. Her every instinct told her staying within a thousand fucking miles of Roanapur was as bad of an idea as watching a nuclear bomb go off. "Rock, move ass, we gotta fucking go!"
It shook him, and he stood up to follow her, pushing through the crowd of suicidal maniacs. They were all gonna die for that money. Revy knew it.
Problem was, there was no way John knew who was gunning for him.
And if there was killer like him with a bounty. He wouldn't be leaving witnesses behind.
Author's Note:
And now the plot starts to roll…
For this chapter, I wanted the following:
Rock's ability to read people like John Wick
John showing off his master-class skill against Russians
A growing alliance and network for John in Roanapur
Funny Yellowflag bar cussing