This comedian sucks, you think as Miss Mooney continues to cackle. You can't believe how much she's laughing because of this clown. What a joke. And not a good one.
You're putting away the glasses from last night on the shelves behind the bar. There's no one here yet, just you, Miss Mooney, Oswald, a single guard, and that horrible comedian. You're the only server, besides Oswald, who's serving drinks to his master. You like coming in early because the money was great. The empty time is when business deals happen. The more you hear, the more you're paid to pretend to be deaf.
The phone rings. "Yeah…put him on." The conversation continues. It doesn't sound like it's going well. You see her glance back at Oswald. Oh, no, what did he do? "That son of a bitch just threatened me! You hang him up with his partner!"
Fish is killing two more people, you realize. Hopefully they will be the end to this string of murders.
She waves her hand, signaling a need for a refill. Oswald complied immediately. "Bless your heart…be a dear and…rub my feet." Again he complies.
She rambles about Falcone for a while, but you're too busy watching Oswald cautiously. You saw the way she looked at him. He did something, and he's about to pay for it. He just doesn't realize it yet.
"You're like a son to me, you know that Oswald?" she says in a condescending tone. He agrees happily. Does he really not know? He's been caught. To what extent is he going to keep trying to hide his lie? You stare at him intently trying to warn him somehow.
Then, you sigh and turn your eyes away, understanding that it makes no difference. He did whatever he did, and telling the truth now isn't going to help him at all.
"It was you." Fish stated. "YOU snitched to the MCU."
You gasp. A snitch? He's a snitch?! That's big, very big. And this wasn't just a little slip about a beating or burglary, he talked to the police about a murder.
The next thing you know, Oswald is on the floor with a shattered chair on him, and Fish was smashing a chair leg into his. You stare in shock.
Fish twists to look at you menacingly. "YOU, get rope to tie this snitch up." You stand there, not able to move your body. "Do you want to join him?!" Shaking your head, you turn to go to the back and frantically search for rope.
Fish has never been this angry before. She's never lost her temper when innocents like me and the comedian were around. She'd always dismiss us first. She doesn't like witnesses. Horrified, your mind is racing. She broke his knees. That's some hardcore shit there. He won't walk normally ever again. But, surely this is it. It'll end here, right? Hopeful, you find a coil of rope and bring it out to Fish.
"Tie him up for me, honey," she commands you. "That rope is too hard on my delicate hands."
You look at her, wide-eyed. "I…I don't know how…" The words stumble out of your mouth.
She walks up to you, glaring at you. "Just do it so he can't get out." Then, she walks out of the room, leaving you alone with him.
Not knowing what else you could do, you start to tie him up while he's still reeling from the chair to the face. You tie his hands behind him as he starts to regain his ability to speak.
"You should let me go," he pleaded. "I can tell you're a good girl. You've never tied anyone up before. You've never even seen anyone get hit before, have you? You're such a good girl."
"Shut up!" you yell, on the verge of tears. "Of course I've seen it, I work here. I'm used to this kind of thing."
"Keep telling yourself that, but I see your white face and watery eyes. You're terrified. You don't want to do this. You don't want anyone to get hurt. That's why you should let me go."
"And be killed in your place?! How stupid do you think I am?"
"Then come with me, I'll protect you!"
"Liar. You only care about yourself." Finishing up, you stand to look down on him. "Besides, I like living a safe, simple life, which you have now endangered. I'm involved now, and it's your fault. I'm a waitress, I'm not supposed to be tying a snitch up before he goes to slaughter. You think I like looking at a man that's going to be dead tomorrow?" You're still on the verge of crying. He will be dead tomorrow. This man that always pestered you, downright violated you, is going to die. As much as you don't like him, you hate the idea of murder even more. It's hard wrapping your mind around the fact that, in just a few hours, Oswald would draw his last breath as a bullet was put in his head, if he was lucky.
Soon enough, the guard comes to relieve you of your position looking after Oswald. You look at him one last time. His nose is bleeding, his eyes begging you to help him escape. Turning and starting to walk away, you say one last thing to him.
"Goodbye, Oswald."