Chapter 5: Lawless

Jones could feel all the eyes on him as he drank, but he ignored them. He was a stranger in this city, and he knew the people here had a reputation for reacting badly to outsiders. He was not going to be a repeat of the previous criminals and warlords who tried to stake their claim and had their lives burned away by the leaders here. He would leave his mark on this city and its inhabitants, one way or the other. He lifted the glass of bourbon to his lips and took a sip. It was cheap, and it tasted it, too. But it was sweet like caramel and it reminded him of home. The bartender would occasionally give him a glance here and there, an inquisitive glare as though trying to figure out who he was. When Jones had arrived first and ordered a drink, the man was apprehensive, but he kept his thoughts to himself. It was a surprise this Yellowflag stayed open at all if that was how the patrons were greeted. But Jones was aware he was the exception here. As he knew, outsiders were seldom welcomed, even less so nowadays. It would be a miracle if he went the night without someone picking a fight with him.

He turned his head at the sound of the stool next to him becoming occupied.

"Clarissa," he greeted one of his own. She was a broad woman, with three parallel scars across her left cheek and red hair tied back into a low and loose ponytail. She was wearing a black tank top and beige combat trousers with knee-high lace up boots. Her right hand was covered with a thick black glove, but the left was bare. An ammo pack was also strapped to her left upper arm. Back in the civilised world, the Task Force would have been more cautious and had their weapons hidden beneath their clothes. Here, though, at the edge of the world, they knew they could get away with carrying openly. Just like her boss, Clarissa wore her own gun holstered at her hip, an M1911 with several tally marks scratched along the length of the barrel. Truth be told, Jones felt more at home in this city than he cared to admit. Despite his lawful and official allegiances, he very much suited Roanapur.

"Place is a fucking hornet's nest, boss," Clarissa told him, waving at the bartender to bring her over a drink. He shrugged his shoulders, unsure of what to bring her. She pointed at the bottle of gin in the corner. It looked like it had never been opened. "I knew it was open carry, but Jesus. It's lawless."

"Sure is," Jones told her excitedly. The barman set her drink down in front of her, his inquisitive eyes constantly watching them as they spoke. Jones had a mind to tell him off, but he wanted to have another drink first. That would get his blood pumping. "You ought to be jumping out of your panties with excitement. We can do things our way here." Jones turned around in his seat to face the room, resting his elbows on the bar itself. Several of the other patrons that had been looking at him averted their eyes. Most didn't.

"Just gotta be careful, is all," Clarissa warned. She was far more cautious than the others, too much so in Jones's opinion. He wondered if she would ever relax while on assignment.

"Quit your worrying," he told her, taking another sip of his bourbon and swishing it around in his mouth. It was beginning to taste better with every glass. That was often the case. "We've been itching for an opportunity like this, just the gang with no rules or regulations, no red tape or paperwork to hold us back. We're off the books this time, sweetheart." Clarissa relaxed in the stool and smirked.

"I suppose you're right," she relented. "They knew what they were doing sending us here, didn't they?"

"Sure did," Jones agreed. "They knew what this place was, anyone else would have popped an artery trying to figure out how to approach it. But the higher ups saw an opportunity to get shit done. Send Jones and his crew into the den of wolves and turn a blind eye. By letting us live by the rules of this city, they knew we could get more done in a week than we would anywhere else in the space of a year."

The information regarding how Interpol had come across details of Roanapur's true nature had been scant, but Jones was briefed on the organisations and factions believed to be operating here. Then, he was sent in with his Task Force and told to sort the city out by any means necessary, no questions asked. The entire operation was off the record. After doing a little research of his own, it soon became clear to Jones what was so special about this place. It really was a void of chaos and destruction, a black mark on the map.

"What do you think about the Chief?" Clarissa asked. "Something tells me he's not gonna be too reliable."

"Oh, he'll do as he's told," Jones assured her. "If he doesn't, I'll make him squeal like a real piggy. And he knows that."

"Emery and Davin are watching the place tonight. Told them to call if there was any trouble."

"Good girl. At least that piece of shit will be kept in line. If he's smart, he'll know we have eyes on him. The rest of them joining us?"

"Not tonight," Clarissa told him. "They're taking a look around in that apartment, making sure it's safe." Jones chuckled to himself. It was out of the way and high up above the city. Nobody was going to know they were there. Still, he had to commend his people for being thorough.

He turned back around in his seat to face the bar again.

"We'll lay low for the time being," Jones explained quietly. "Settle ourselves before getting down to business. No point in drawing unwanted attention."

"And then?" Clarissa asked. Jones rolled his eyes.

"Then we get to work," he told her. "Jesus, woman, do you ever blow off some steam?" She remained silent and took a drink.

"Blew off plenty the other night," she said slyly. Jones suddenly became a lot more attentive.

"As I recall, I sent you ahead to scout out a safehouse, not fuck the lowlifes that live in this shithole."

"Girl's gotta eat," Clarissa told him. "Weren't you just chewing my ear off about never blowing off steam?" That seemed to shut him up.

"Point taken," he said, grinning to himself as he brought the glass of bourbon to his lips. Just as he was about to take another drink, somebody bumped into him and it spilled onto the bar. Jones would have been prepared to let it slide, were it not for the alcohol making its way through his bloodstream and the words that came from the stranger's mouth.

"Out of the fuckin' way, asshole." He was clearly very drunk, though Jones wasn't sure if his attitude would have been different sober. He also smelled heavily of sweat, his red t-shirt appearing as though it hadn't been washed in weeks, and there was a dirty grey bandana on his head. It was worth noting that he was also missing several teeth. If this went the way it normally would, Jones expected he would lose a few more.

"Mind the fucking bar!" the barman, who they assumed was the owner, said loudly.

"Dumbass is in the way, Bao!" the drunkard retorted. "Shove off, old man, give me some damn room." Jones just turned his head towards Clarissa and smiled.

"What do you say?" he asked. She already knew where this was going, of course, he was just putting on a show. "Should I let this asshole walk away with his remaining teeth, or do I need to show these degenerates who's in charge?"

"Give them hell," Clarissa answered before the stranger could respond.

Without warning, Jones launched his left arm upward and his fist caught the man's jaw. He was on the floor with blood pumping from a dislodged tooth before he could process what had just happened. Three other men, who had presumably been sitting at the same table, all stood to attention and looked poised to interfere. Clarissa jumped out of her seat immediately and stood between them and their friend, hands on hips.

"I don't think so," she warned them. She must have been almost six feet tall, dwarfing many of the men in this bar right now. Jones had also seen her fight before. With wide shoulders and heavily muscled arms, she was a force of nature. The Task Force leader stood up from his own stool as the stranger clambered to his feet. He tried to take a swing at Jones, who dodged and responded with a swift right hook, knocking the drunk back down again. Then, he just clutched the front of his shirt and started beating on him. One of the three others approached Clarissa as he prepared to tackle her. That was his first mistake. She deflected his incoming fist with her forearm and kicked him right between the legs. With him momentarily incapacitated, she turned her attention to the other two, who tried to tackle her at the same time. One of them was quick enough to land a punch on her, catching her in the face. She did not fall, however, and instead turned back towards the attacker when he realised he could not knock her. With one hand, she grabbed his throat and lifted him off his feet. The second man launched into a flurry of attacks, landing maybe eight punches altogether into her back. A swift movement of her free arm sent her elbow crunching into his mouth and he tumbled to the ground with a broken jaw. She used her incredible strength to lift the man whose throat she held over her head and threw him crashing into the table he had been sitting at. Finally, she returned to the man clutching his testicles and shot her knee into the back of his head.

Clarissa folded her arms and waited for Jones to finish beating the first man. When he was done, he fell in beside her and looked around the room. Almost everyone had their hands on their weapons, but nobody was brave-or stupid-enough to shoot. Brawls and drunken disagreements were not uncommon here, that much was obvious. The thing that had everyone on edge was the fact that they knew Jones and Clarissa were no ordinary criminals or miscreants who had come to Roanapur to make a name for themselves. These people knew the man and woman who had just beaten four men senseless had come here for a very different reason.

"Show's over, folks," Jones said loudly, addressing the whole bar now. "I'm real sorry. Guess you're gonna have to wait until next time to see more. But I sure hope you learned something here, today. Y'all are used to getting away with doing whatever the fuck you want. Just like this asshole." He pointed to the drunkard he had beaten, lying motionless but alive on the ground with blood covering his face. A single tooth remained in his head. The rest were scattered around him. "But you don't gotta be a genius to see what I'm saying, here. You want to end up like your fuck-ugly friend? Be my guest. But mark my words, the day will come when you'll wish getting your teeth knocked out was the least of your worries." He stopped speaking and finished off what was in his glass so that what he had said would sink in. Then, he started towards the door with Clarissa beside him. "You all have a good evening, now." As they neared the exit, Clarissa gave him a look of bemusement.

"That what you call laying low?" she asked. Jones laughed. "Shit, you better hope they got the message or you just put a big old target on our backs."

"I could pull down their pantses and spank them, if you want," Jones offered jokingly. "But I get the feeling you've had your fair share of spanking since you've been here." A faint smirk appeared on Clarissa's face.

"There might have been a little bit of spanking." Jones cackled loudly as the two of them left the bar, its residents utterly gobsmacked by what had taken place there tonight.