I turned away. What else could I do? Finally, the bartender was paying me some attention, a wide eyed stare of voyeurism, pity, and anxiety. I tapped the bar; without breaking eye contact he filled my glass with a finger of whiskey.

I gave him a disappointed look, “I was going to ask about that trap door behind the bar, but it seems a bit late for that now.” I threw back the shot with as much bravado as I could muster. It wasn’t very much whiskey or bravado. Feeling the burn slide its way down all the same I spun on my stool to face what remained of the patrons, the fat Red Thumb, and three angry Two Bones.

“Sorry to spoil yer day, sir, but an acquaintance o’ mine has some questions,” the Red Thumb snarled.

The lead Two Bones tossed casually, “We all have questions.”

“I don’t suppose,” I offered with a shrug, “You’d all accept that I may not have answers you’d like?”

The Red Thumb glared at me with beady eyes setdeep in his fat face, “Oy, you best pray to whatever gods you like that you do.”