They crowded together in the shadows of the bar's entrance. "I know the bartender", Knox whispered. "He won't report anything to the police. I'll just pay for the damage. The two of you go in and take a seat. You act as if you didn't knew me. Then I come and go to the bar. First I'll talk to the bartender, then I'll offer some thug a bunch of dollars if he manages to get Vivian to snog with him."
Here Vivian interrupted. "Pray don't pick some disgusting lout!"
"It's up to your noble knight here to protect you. That's where you come in, pal. You beat his dirty mind out of his dirty head, understand? And you do the same to his friends."
He nodded, having an extremely bad feeling about this.
But there was nothing he could do about it. So he just offered his arm to Vivian and led her in.
The tavern was a low-down place, even worse than the one Benji had taken him to. Despite the late hour – his watch informed him that it was going on midnight – it was rather crowded, mostly with people he didn't want to get any closer to. They picked an unoccupied table in a corner and sat down, waiting for Knox to enter.
There was a burly fellow sitting at the table next to theirs, behind a vast tankard of beer, distinctly staring over at them. At first he didn't want to answer that unpleasant gaze, then he decided to do otherwise and stared back. To his amazement, the guy turned away hastily.
Encouraged by his success, he tried his trademark glare on some other goons, who wouldn't face him as well. Vivian offered him a warm smile. "That's a nice beginning", she whispered.
He grinned at her, then continued glaring to impress her a bit.
From the corner of his eye he saw Knox come in, but he acted as if he had never seen the man before.
Then he felt a hand on his knee, knowing it was Vivian. He turned his attention to her, wondering if she wanted to tell him something. Yet she didn't; she just patted his knee.
At first he was irritated, yet he couldn't deny that he liked it. Gingerly he let his fingers creep over the table and touch her other hand still resting there. She didn't protest. Nor did she resist in any way. He just felt her fingers crawl up his thigh a little bit in response.
There was some conversation going on at the bar, and Knox was involved. Normally he would be watching nervously what was going to happen, but now he was more interested in Vivian. Her fingers were travelling upwards rapidly, causing him to shudder with badly-suppressed pleasure. He had a pretty good idea where they might be going, and that sounded… ahem… stimulating. That Knox guy should just stay where he was; it was his turn to have a go with Vivian now.
Her hand slid up a bit further towards their probable destination, making him clench his teeth. Don't. Do. That. But at the same time he desperately wanted her to.
Just then a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, making him jerk upright. "Listen, lad", a rough voice said, "I'll have you choose. Either you'll let me have your girl, or you get a nice beating."
Curse you! He rose from his seat with such violence that his chair fell over and made the burly fellow behind him step back from him. With all the contempt and disdain he was able to summon, he mustered the guy. Dark-skinned, heavily built, probably not too fast. But there were two other thug-faced men behind him, one light-skinned, but red-faced from too much alcohol, the other black, with a flat nose that looked very much like it had had some few good punches during the last week. He scanned their primitive, brutal features thoroughly, trying to guess their weaknesses. They certainly weren't intelligent. But they were strong. And they were just waiting for a fight.
"Come on", the red-faced drunkard rumbled. "He's merely a little boy on his first date." They all burst out laughing, and he felt the blood shooting into his face.
"Oh dear, sorry, son", the first man jeered. "But you're not old enough for that kind of thing yet."
Rage was building up inside him like the dark clouds of thunderstorm. He wanted to launch himself at those brutes, to hit them until they were bathed in their own blood, to kick their ugly visages in, to crush them to death with his fists. Yet there was something, no idea what he should call it, holding him back, and so he just remained standing opposite the brawlers with clenched fists, glaring at them.
"Kid's got a nasty look 'bout him", the Negro commented. "Might be a big bully."
"Oh, come on!" said the drunkard. "He's way too skinny. Doesn't your Momma feed you, little one?"
He wanted to tell them to shut up about his mother, but no sound escaped his lips except a furious hiss.
"Oh, leave him", sneered the first man. "He's feeling pretty alone without Mommy. Aren't you, sonny?" he added, tousling his hair roughly.
Finally the spell was broken. His fist crashed forcefully into the thug's face, making him topple backwards into his companions. Never dare to mention my mother again!
In one accord the three goons howled with rage. Leaping past their leader, the drunkard lunged at him. But he didn't reckon with the force of his young adversary's wrath. Before he realized what was happening, his ribs cracked dangerously under a blow, while another gave him a blue eye he would keep for the next time.
The trio retreated, just like a serpent recoiling. He hoped they would leave it at that and go, but he was disappointed. Picking up a chair, the first man came at him again, followed by his cronies. "Thinking you're a big man, eh?"
He bit his lip. Knock them out, as fast as possible, so you needn't deal with all of them at once. Yes, but this was easier thought than done.
When the thug leader lunged at him again, he was prepared. He dodged the chair easily and grabbed the man around his throat, then banged him against the wall headfirst, once, twice, three times. Then the drunkard grabbed him. He kicked out at the new adversary, got him in the shin forcefully. Once more the drunkard howled and staggered back, and he had time to try once more to knock the thug leader out by banging him against the wall. Then the Negro had a go. He felt how the brawler's huge hand grabbed his upper arm. Like he had done with the drunkard, he kicked at him, but the black bully wouldn't be scared off that easily. He felt the Negro's knuckles collide with his temple painfully, which made him loosen his grip on the Leader. And this was a big mistake. Immediately the chair crashed down on his head, and hadn't the Negro still held him, he would have certainly lost his balance.
Dazed, he blinked, trying to see through the fog drifting before his eyes. On his tongue was the taste of blood. Then a blow in the stomach caught him off his guard, made him slump against the wall. Weakly he kicked at the men once more and really hit his target, but it wasn't nearly hard enough. "So, darling", the leader crooned in his raspy voice, "say good-bye to your world…"
The memory struck him like a thunderbolt. Many years ago he had heard a similar sentence… His vision was clouded; his eyes were burning with soot and tears. Flames were dancing before his eyes, and inside his mind as well. With a brutality not yet known to him, a large hand grasped him by the collar, and a rough, cruel voice hissed in his ear… He hadn't been able to fight back then; he had been but a small child. Now he had grown to manhood. Now he could.
There was only one thought on his mind as he sprang to his feet with new strength, only one purpose: revenge. Burning with hatred inwardly, he threw himself at the leader and rammed one elbow into his neck, the other against the side of his jaw. Without waiting if the thug fell or not, he turned to the Negro and, grabbing the chair from the leader, brought it down hard on the side of his face. The chair broke into pieces, showering him with small splinters of wood, leaving one leg in his hand. And this he shoved right into the drunkard's open mouth.
Only then did he stand still and have a look at the situation. The Negro was lying on the floor, obviously out cold. The drunkard was sprawling as well, whimpering while blood was streaming from his mouth. Only the leader was still up more or less, recovering.
And everybody in the tavern was watching him. Knox grinned, leaning against the bar, and gave him a thumbs-up.
He grinned back proudly. That had been pretty fast. His head seemed to be spinning slightly, and he apparently had something close to a headache, but otherwise – he didn't feel too bad.
Like a lethally wounded bull, the leader staggered at him for a last desperate attack. He could read it in his eyes that the man knew he had lost, and this gave him satisfaction. But the thug didn't want to lose his face in front of the spectators.
That fool, he thought, after this successful fight very confident. This will prove to be your undoing…
The man charged, but lacked the power. He tripped him easily, and when the thug lay flat on the floor, he kicked the back of his head before he could stop himself. There was a moan from the audience. Oh no, he had gone too far. But then again, he didn't care. This man had picked the fight. It was not his fault.
Defiantly he gazed around him. There was no reason to blame him for brutality. Those guys had provoked him. They had attacked him. They had beaten him. It had been just his good right to defend himself.
Even Vivian was staring at him. Really, what were they all thinking!
And hadn't she herself wanted him to be brutal?
Hadn't he just defended her?
The sound of someone clapping his hands made him turn to look at the bar. It was Knox, still grinning broadly. At first he was the only one, but one after another, others started to applaud too. Soon the whole bar rang with applause and cheers, just like a few hours ago, when he had defeated Master Mad. "About time someone taught that crook a lesson", he could distinctly here a man say, and others heartily agreed.
Knox sauntered over to him and put an arm around his shoulders. "That was quite a tavern brawl, buddy!"
