John's eyes quickly adjusted to the blackness. The cold brick and asphalt echoed with heavy footsteps and the deafening silence amplified his breathing and even the dying wail of the sirens echoed through the extensive alleyway. John nearly sliced the bum in half who had been sitting in the alley who had let out a weak cough. He was asleep. The fact that he was there didn't startle John. It was the fact that he was alive. He was so used to seeing dead bodies that the faint signs of life he showed startled him. If he had a heart it would have been pounding. The last few months had left him paranoid. All the running. Not from people. John could handle people. It was the running he had been doing from other things. Things that shouldn't walk the human plane. Things that wanted to take back what was theirs. John pulled two fifties out of the inner lining of his coat and placed them in the open hand of the homeless man.

He soon arrived on the other side of the unusually long alley. He still felt that tinge of heightened sense that he got when he was around what he perceived to be danger. The streets lights were depressingly dull but comforting. John hoped he was done running. Maybe his evil would be masked by the evil of a thousand other souls. Evil? Was that what he was? John resigned to that truth. While he was trying to turn over a new leaf, he couldn't just forget what he had done in the past.

John soon came to a warmly lit bar in a relatively shitty part of the city. The Yellow Flag. John mouthed the name. He chuckled at the slightly misleading name. Why not something a little more violent? John could tell from the profanity he heard from a multitude of drunken louts that it was a dangerous place to be. It didn't bother him. He could handle danger. He pushed through the front doors lightly as to not attract too much attention to himself. As it was many still glanced up to see who had entered. He eyed the inhabitants one at a time, just a quick glance, just to see who looked like they wanted to kill him the most. He could see their evil, wafting off of them in clouds, filling the room. John hated it, he wanted to leave but knew that this very evil was his camouflage. His eyes then fell upon an oddly dressed Asian man sitting at the bar, at least oddly dressed for this particular setting. He wore a dress shirt and tie, but perhaps the most bizarre thing about him was his lack of evil aura. While everyone else gave off the aura to some degree, he was completely void of it. It was odd, then that he would be talking to someone like-. He then quickly registered the individual sitting next to him as one of the "staff" that were on the tanker picking up the shipment. He hadn't gotten a good look at her from the top deck, but he remembered the intricate tribal tattoo on her right shoulder. What he failed to see that day was her apparent interest in firearms. Two custom handguns John couldn't recognize hung from shoulder holsters at her sides.

He slowly made his way to the bar and sat down. It was the first time he had even partially relaxed in months. He wanted to close his eyes and rest. He lowered his head and drifted into a half sleep when a loud smack on the bar woke him.

"You drinkin' or leavin'?" He looked up into the ugly face of the bar keep.

"What?" John asked wearily.

"I said if you ain't buyin fuck all then get the fuck out."

John was far from willing to get into a bar fight and decided to humour him.

"Give me Bacardi. The whole bottle." He slapped down two fifties.

The barkeep eyed the two fifties. "I ain't givin' ya change."

"Whatever."

He took the bottle and drained half before he put it back down. He heard chuckles from down the table and turned to see the tattooed girl grinning impishly at him. Oh yeah she was evil, no doubt. Her eyes had the weariness of a killer. He saw it all the time. He felt sorry for her. She finally spoke up.

"You gonna finish that?"

He glanced over briefly before sliding the bottle down to her. Through the corner of his eye he could see that his sudden relinquishing of the apparently ever-valuable booze surprised her. He leaned over the table wishing that he could get drunk, but no, a downside to his supremacy was his inability to be intoxicated by any amount of alcohol. He just sat there with his throat burning and the liquid being absorbed into his form. He swam in his thoughts for a few minutes hoping the fucking barkeep would leave him alone. Then he got the feeling. That awful, chilling death feeling. The bar doors squeaked open again. Every other sound in the bar faded to John's ears all he could hear was the footsteps coming closer. Each thump got louder. It was them. He didn't get away. They found him again. The man sat down next to him. Or at least it was dressed like a man. The bar stool squeaked as it rotated. John knew it had turned to face him.

"Feeling a bit under the weather, John? You look pale.

John's face broke into a huge smile. "Christ."

The man emitted huge deep a laugh and slapped him hard on the back.

"Johnny, ya fleein" bastard you've been gone so damn long I almost didn't recognize ya."

"Shit, you scared the hell out of me."

"Yeah, yeah. Barkeep rum, a lot of rum." Max rubbed his hands together. "I am getting piss drunk and don't ya stop me."

"You really got to stop making those entrances."

Yeah I know. You thought I was one of them din't ya.

"No shit, you smell as bad as them."

Max was a tall heavyset man. His thick beard was pitch black as well as the hair left on his head. He wore an old black sweater with the sleeves bushed up to his forearms. His thick arms got John into a headlock for the insult and a muttering of how much Amy had been missing him. His Irish accent bellowed profanity and the smell of rum as he spoke.

"How ya been, lad."

John simply gave Max a grim look.

"That bad eh?"

The girl spoke up.

"No shit, nobody without big problems drinks as fast as he did."

Max bellowed another laugh and spoke with slurred words.

"And who's this lovely lass?" Max joked

"None of your business old man." The girl challenged him with a grin.

Max wasn't about to be beaten.

"Well then can I at least ask why ya carryin' around them little wee pea-shooters then? Ya want ta see a real gun?" Max grabbed his groin.

A heavyset African-American sitting next to her chuckled. The girl's grin went from impish to evil as she drew one of her guns. Max chuckled.

"What ya gonna do lass? Shoot me? Oh I'm shakin' I'm damn near 'bout ta piddle."

John knew Max would be fine but the last thing he needed was a gunfight. He grabbed Max's shoulder and sat him down.

"Relax, lad, meant nuthin' by it. Just wanted ta show the lass a good time."

"Just try it St. Patrick." She said, her grin widening."

"Saint? Oh, lass ya couldn't be further from tha truth."

John spun and landed a heavy punch in the back of his head. Max cringed and turned to him.

"Aye lad, aye. I'm done."

"Good, you damn drunk. Don't get loose lips."

"Hahaha when was the last time you said that to me?"

"Pretty sure it was the last time you spoke."

John laid down few fives as a generous tip and they both left.

"Where to?" John said.

"I got a room at a hotel, we'll go there, but first I'm takin' a leak."

Max waddled over to a car and unzipped. He was glad Max showed up. He felt a little strain subside knowing Max was backing him. John's thoughts were broken when he heard a scramble back at the car." The black man he had seen in the bar had Max in a choke hold. Max was laughing the whole way.

"…thinkin you can just piss on my car?"

Max swung his body around and smashed the black man against the car. Then he grabbed him by the vest and lifted him off his feet.

"Oh yer a funny man, ain't ya." Max balled his hand and swung back for a fatal punch.

John's knee connected with Max's groin knocking the wind out of him and cracking the ground beneath their feet. Max dropped the man and fell to one knee.

"Oooy, lad why'd ya go *gasp* and do 'at?"

"Shut up, shut the fuck up."

The black man rose to his feet and landed a solid upper cut to Max's jaw. He stumbled back in a drunken haze. Even so Max was at least two feet taller than his adversary and John knew how this would end if he didn't intervene. He rushed between the two.

"Ok, ok he gets the point, we're outta here."

"Like fuck you are." A calm and very evil voice whispered behind him.

He felt cold steel against his neck and heard the hammer of a custom handgun.

"Wait, wait, WAIT!"

"Oh, just let 'em lad." Max slurred.

"Shut up, ok, ok just listen, he's drunk, he doesn't know what he's doing, just give me a break and let me take him home."

He studied both the black man and the angry gunner. He could tell by her expression that she had the full intention of blowing them both away. The man rubbed his eyes working through his own dwindling drunkenness.

"Why don't we just go back inside and drink some more?" John said desperately trying to diffuse the situation.

He heard the gunman chuckle and press the gun harder against his head.

John spoke again. "I'm buying."

The gun immediately dropped and John relaxed.

The man grinned. "Ok, man. But you better have a heavy wallet."

Author's note: I figure I should throw this in: I do not own Black Lagoon. Sorry it took so long for the second chapter. Hope you enjoy it.