Revenant

Chapter 2

The big fellow turned to face me, his dead eyes staring at me from beneath a forehead that would have looked at home on a silverback gorilla.

"What?" he growled after a few seconds.

"Spare me. You came in here maybe five minutes before rent-a-goon over there. You've got a laptop sitting on your table, open but not turned on, and it's angled so the reflection shows you what's going on behind you. Buddy comes in here, identifies me, goes out of his way to ignore you . . . it's obvious, and more than just a little. I've discovered that I'm already tired of this bullshit, and it's only just started. Now, you can tell me what this is all about, or I can give you an excuse to go cane shopping with your friend - it's your call."

"That some kind of threat?" he rumbled.

I shrugged. "Or a dare. Take it how you will."

Those implacable brown eyes regarded me, and he appeared the slightest bit amused. The only sound that could be heard in the room for a while was the pained, keening noise of the guy Nate was assisting to his feet and forcibly escorting to the rear exit of my bar.

The big guy seemed to come to a decision, and his face curled into something that approximated a smile.

"You're pretty observant. Just wanted to see what the big deal was, I guess . . . find out if you were as good as people say," he said, his voice sounding like exactly the sort of thing they had in mind when they invented the word 'gravelly'. "You know, test the merchandise? Word is you make more on a single job than I do in a year - figured I'd sneak a peek at what our quarter-mill was gonna get us."

"Oh, it's about work? Well, why didn't you say so right away?" I smiled hugely at him. "Not interested. Your beer is on the house, and the door is right over there. Have a pleasant day."

I grabbed my drink, gave him my back, and began walking back over to my table.

"I really think you'll want this job . . . Joe," saying my name as though it meant something.

It did, actually, but I didn't care right then. I kept on walking.

"Joe," he called, warningly.

I continued to ignore him.

"Big mistake you're makin' here, Joe . . ."

"You know," I said, turning around to face him once more, "we have this saying back home. It goes something like this; 'Fuck off' . . ."

The big man bristled.

"You like it here, Joe? Like living on the East coast?" he asked, a distinct surliness in his tone. "I really think you should get your ass back over here, park it in a chair, keep your wise mouth shut for a few seconds, and listen to what I got to say."

"After the bullshit you just pulled? Convince me." I crossed my arms, careful not to spill my drink, and gave him a level stare from twenty feet away. "Four words or less. If I remain unconvinced, well . . . let's just say that all sorts of bad things happen. Understand?"

Tough guy sat up a little straighter and regarded me cooly, held up his hand, and counted off fingers.

"Diavolo. Wants. You," he said. Then, after a pause he added, "Asshole."

I continued to project an outward lack of concern, and kept my eyes half-lidded and relaxed. There was a feeling of icy dread that was slowly building up in my chest.

Well, shit.

There were lots of people in this town that I could afford to blow off. Angelo Diavolo wasn't one of them.