1 – Butch
As Butch’s fists came pummeling down on Black’s head, he couldn’t help but think about what had lead him there. His brain had been working strangely for days now. He couldn’t remember hardly anything, not even things that had just happened. But, something had clicked when Butch broke that first beer bottle over Black’s head that jolted some of his memories into recovery.
He recalled that when he had first been at the bar, he had walked into the men’s room, to relieve himself, and found an amazingly beautiful woman standing behind him. As soon as he was finished and had flushed the urinal, he felt her hands slide around his torso. He spun around, expecting a fight, but was met with her lips against his. He was taken aback for only a moment before he backed her into a stall and slammed the door shut behind them, lifting her up off the ground so her legs could wrap around his waist. Her dress was hiked up, clear around her waist, and there was no protest, no opposition…
When they both had finished, she followed him to the bar and seemed to be in search of a free drink. Black wasn’t even sure if he had any money in his pocket, but after a quick search, he found a large wad of crumbled up bills in the front of his black jeans. “All right, order whatever it is you want,” he said, half-heartedly. The time he had spent with her in the toilet stall was pleasurable, but, somehow, it didn’t seem good enough to warrant spending the entire night with her. But then, the more he thought about it, he couldn’t actually remember the last time he had been with a woman. This intrigued him and made him wonder if it could have been the best, or even the worst time that he had ever spent with a woman intimately.
“Double Jack on the rocks,” she said.
He had completely forgotten what it was that she was talking about, but after a quick scan of the room and the recollection that he was in a bar, he figured out that she was asking for that drink. He ordered two, one for each of them, and he decided that it wouldn’t do any harm to hang out with her for a while longer. He couldn’t think of anything to talk with her about, mainly because he had no idea how he had got there in the first place. But, luckily for him, after she pounded her drink, she jumped back up him like a kid climbing a tree, and forcibly shoved her whiskey soaked tongue down his throat.
That’s when he first noticed him. Butch, standing on the other side of the bar, looking mad as hell. It was almost as if no one else was in the busy bar, but him and Black. His long dark hair was wild and he had a beard to match. He stood about a full head taller than every other man at the bar. He finished his drink and slowly made his way to Black.
Black, to his surprise, knew who this man was. That thought stuck in his head as Butch’s knee repeatedly smashed into his ribs. He had no idea who the woman was he was kissing or why he was in the bar, but he exactly who Butch was. Butch was a hitman. One of the best in Texas. In some circles, the circles that Black frequented, Butch was also known as The Bruiser. Anyone who was anyone, was afraid of him. If Butch had your name on a piece of paper, you weren’t going to live to see the weekend. Black knew this.
As soon as all these pieces started to fit together, he decided that he was tired of getting his head kicked in by the large ox of a man. Black was on his hands and knees and saw that Butch was getting a running start at him. He was going to kick his head clean off of his shoulders. Black quickly grabbed the nearest chair and smashed it on the ground, and thrust the broken wooden chair leg into Butch’s stomach, halting him in his tracks.
Butch’s eyes opened wide with surprise. He staggered and looked around for something to hold himself up with, but most of the people had run out of the bar and the tables and chairs were strewn all over the place. He stumbled backwards until he found a beam to prop himself up against. Black stood up and dusted himself off. He strolled over to Butch and devoid of expression, pulled the wooden chair leg out of his torso and slowly pushed it through Butch’s throat, opening the floodgates of blood that gushed down his front. Butch gasped for air in vain, making his last attempt of breath before falling, heavily, onto the blood soaked floor with a thud.
Black was rubbing his hands on his pants when his ears registered a hammer cock back on a revolver, behind him.
“Get your hands up where I can see them!” a man shouted. “Now, on your knees!”
Black assumed that this was someone from the local law enforcement. Without knowing how many of them were in the bar, he didn’t want to make any sudden movements. He lowered himself down to his knees and lifted his hands above his head. When he heard the hammer release back to the gun, and one set of footsteps moving towards him, he was sure that the cop was alone.
The officer took him by one wrist, and while he was reaching for his cuffs out with his other hand, Black spun around on the floor, twisting the officer’s wrist around, snapping it, before reaching for the officer’s gun and pulled it out of the holster. He was about to open fire on the cop when he heard yet another loud, boisterous voice.
“Freeze!” another officer shouted.
Black looked at him and saw that he was clearly in his gun’s sights. There wasn’t a whole lot that he could do. The officer looked a little rattled by the whole experience.
“You okay, Pete?” he asked the downed officer.
“I’ll live,” Pete said.
Black didn’t like his optimism and glared down at the fallen officer.
“All right, buddy! Drop the gun and kick it over to me, now!” The officer shouted.
Black looked him in the eye and smirked before firing. The officer’s gun flew out of his hand and he screamed out in pain. Black took another shot at the man’s knee, exploding blood and bone across the floor as the wounded man hit the ground.
The officer on the floor was white as a sheet. His bottom lip quivered. Black had him looking down the barrel of his gun. A split second later, the back of the officer’s skull shattered open.
Black knew that there might be another patrol or two heading toward the bar after all the commotion, so he made a hasty exit out the front door. He didn’t know where to go, however, because he didn’t know where he was. That proved irrelevant though, as he immediately found himself surrounded by four squad cars and too many cops with their guns drawn on him. He had been caught.