"Sometimes a deal with the devil is better than no deal at all."
― Lawrence Hill, Someone Knows My Name


"Lord have Mercy! Look a here. Look a here!"

Tyrese had just finished drying the last glass. He knew that voice from anywhere. This was one time Tyrese was glad his back wasn't turned. He had his sawed-off shot-gun ready. This impromptu meeting was bound to happen. He tossed the white drying towel to drape over his shoulder as he gave the nuisance with three of his men, flanking on either side and bringing up the rear his full attention.

"What a crowd. What a Goddamn crowd we have inside here today! Just the way I like it! I like when I can have a conversation with you to discuss somethings that have come to my attention."

Tyrese instantly gauged that if it came down to a shoot out, he was going to take the lead motherfucker out first. The loudmouth, motorcycle jacket all the time wearing in 90 -degree weather, never ever without his Lucille, Negan. It was a suicide mission he was willing to take if things were to go to hell. So he remained cautious, because behavior wise, Negan was unpredictable.

Negan scanned the empty bar. He was paying close attention to any new detail like fresh bullet holes or blood stains, but all he could discern was the freshly painted wall on the far end of the room. He took a seat at the bar directly in front of Tyrese.

"Are you going to offer me a drink or must I ask?"

"Whisky?"

"Damn straight."

"Comin up."

"You know a crazy thing happened."

"What's that?"

"Sent four of my men out to collect and they never came back. Did they ever stop by here?"

"Can't say they had and if they did, I am aware of the routine and I pay up." Tyrese placed a pistol next to Negan's drink. It was loaded.

A gun was better than money, with bullets it bought time and supplies for the bar and quite a bit for the town up the road. Michonne had given Tyrese a list to work from when making a deal with this particular devil.