Michael doesn't have time to stop her or even call out to her, his vision swims as he finally makes it upright.
Fiona's cell phone rings and she is about to hit the ignore button on her phone again like she did the other times Michael has called since she left him at the Carlito, although it's been several minutes since his last attempt at reaching her.
She sighs in frustration until she checks it and sees that it's a different number that is popping up on her screen. She studies it for a moment before realizing it's the number to Carlito's and frustrated she answers it only so she can tell Michael how stupid he is, sarcastically greeting, "How clever Michael, using the bar's phone to call me. Did you really not think that I would still know that it's you?"
"M'am I'm not Michael. But if he's still someone you care about I suggest coming by and picking him up. If it weren't for Sam and you guys being regulars I would have called the cops by now," the bartender's unspoken threat is clearly heard by Fiona so she replies, "Fine."
Michael remembers why the guy wouldn't let him leave by himself and why he insisted on calling Fiona himself after she wouldn't take his calls.
He slowly moves his hand under the covers to finger the bandage now covering the wound he received in his latest bar fight.
He remembers making it to his feet. He remembers being seemingly steady but having double vision, a lovely side effect of having smacked the back of his head into the bar counter.
He can make out the face of the man well enough to take a swing of his own. But the man is quick and blocks the shot, using Michael's momentum against him and wrapping him in a choke hold.
Michael fights back, kicking his legs, stomping on the man's feet, jabbing his elbows into the man's ribs before finally giving up and switching his tactic. He swings his legs out and catches the bar pushing against it, he manages to topple both of them to the floor, taking out a table in the process, drink and food go flying to the floor.
It stuns the man just long enough for Michael to break lose, gasping for air, his throat sore from it being nearly crushed.
But before Michael can get a step further the man is up on his feet again, this time a cracked beer bottle in his hand.
Michael's vision has black spots floating here and there and he sways slightly, the man seizes the opportunity and makes his move.
Michael's reaction is slow as he defends himself, the shard of glass catches him in the side. He closes his eyes for a second as he lets out a cry of pain, right then he hears the distinct sound of a gun being cocked and he knows he's in trouble.
The burn in his side is intense but he makes himself focus, blinking his eyes he sees the man is slowly easing off as the bartender waves a pistol in his face.
"You need to leave. NOW!" The bartender shouts. "Leave now or I'm calling the police!" He yells in a thick Latino accent, and the man finally makes his way out of the place.
Michael places a hand over the gash in his side and nods his head in thanks to the bartender who has kind fearful eyes.
"Come on," the middle-aged bartender urges Michael.
"I'm fine," Michael waves him off.
"Yeah, I can see that," the bartender replies slightly annoyed looking at the mess on the floor.
He yells at his partner still behind the bar giving him the gun to put back in its place behind the counter and tells him to clean up the mess.
"You didn't need to do that," Michael tells the man softly nodding his head towards the pistol now hidden under the bar.
"Are you kidding, you were up against a giant! It was like I was watching David fight Goliath," Michael smirks at the Bible reference remembering the one time his mother read the story to him.
"Yeah, but David won in the end," Michael reminds him.
The bartender shrugs his shoulder before running his hand over the bar counter, "Dang man, you put a dent in the wood, you must have one hard head... or a cracked one!"
"Come on," he says, grabbing Michael's blazer for him off his chair and tries to lead him back behind the bar toward the storage room.
Michael hesitates, but reluctantly follows the man as the liquid seeping through his fingers and the obvious growing blood stain on his shirt makes him weary of walking out to his car. He doesn't need any more attention or trouble from suspicious cops or curious onlookers.
Finding a chair being pushed at him Michael sits down and leans over. Feeling worse he straightens up, leans his head back against the cool wall and closes his eyes.
The bartender studies him before letting his opinion be known, "He knocked you around pretty good," he says with a small chuckle.
Michael grins in reply but doesn't open his eyes. The adrenaline from the fight begins to wear off and the agony in his skull makes it hard for him to concentrate on anything other than breathing.
The bartender reaches into the cooler and pulls out a beer for himself and for his friend.
He pops the caps off and pushes one against Michael's hands. His fingers automatically wrap around the cold bottle and he takes a long draw from the bottle. But the bartender doesn't miss the smear of red that appears across the bottle's label from the bloody fingers holding it.
"Eh, maybe you should call your lady friend, yes?" The man asks with worry seeping through his calm façade.
Normally he would resent the insinuation but the throbbing in his head makes it hard for him to come up with an excuse as to why he shouldn't call Fiona. He lets loose of the bottle in his hand and it begins to slide towards the floor before the bartender catches it.
With one hand pressed to his side, Michael reaches with the other into his pant pocket and pulls out his cell phone. He tries calling her three times before he gives up without leaving a voice message.
He breathes out, and gives a small grin, "Women." The bartender bobs his head in agreement.
Michael finishes off the beer and pushes himself up from the chair. His world tilts and the bartender is quick to stop his descent to the floor.
"Nice catch," Michael offers as thanks.
"Plenty of practice," the bartender replies and reluctantly walks him out of the bar at Michael's insistence.