The Blind Falcon

Chapter I: You want it darker

The shadows of the night started settling in over the notorious city of London, the mist slowly flooding the cubical stones as the street lamps flickered almost in harmony with the cadence of his heartbeat. It was Arthur's favorite part of the day. It was the part of the day when the heavy-footed man finally got to rest behind the counter of the Blind Falcon, counting the week's profit. Today was a good day. The money came easy and he almost didn't have to lift a finger in order to double last week's income. It called for a reason to celebrate. But yet again, it was the day of the week that every single one of his men knew that he shall not be disturbed under any circumstances, so those damn cockroaches didn't dare set foot in the bar. It was a silent one. It was just Arthur, the bartender, a handful of people sitting at a table near the entrance, a nice bottle of Macallan '63 and some soft jazz music that was floating through the background. The only reason the bartender, Jack, managed to keep his job for all those years was his ability to stay quiet and mind his own business. He didn't know and didn't even want to know what messy business was going on behind his back and how Holmes was one of the richest men in the underground part of London, just by owning a bar. In case the police or anyone came around asking questions, he would be just fine, sheltered by plausible deniability.

Arthur Holmes was the kind of man that turned heads on the street as he was passing by. Women found the danger that he was wafting, attractive and most of them wanted to bed him, while men felt somehow threatened by his empowering posture and his cocky attitude. He was a handsome man, 6.2 feet tall, good corporal constitution, and even though it's been more than a decade since his fighting days ended, he looked just as muscular as back then. Broad back, dark hair that fell like the waves of a waterfall down the back of his head, shuttered ocean blue eyes, partly closed as if he was trying to hide what he was feeling or thinking behind his awful long and dark eyelashes, and a pugnacious strong defined jaw-line. Right under his right eye, there was an obvious razor-thin scar painted on his cheek, as old as time itself. That was way back from his first time in-between the chords of a boxing rink. "Those were simpler times.", he would always say when asked. Even though the scar rather came into prominence, his thick crooked lips were a pleasure to the sore eye and somehow managed to distract attention from the main focus on his cheekbone. Always freshly shaved and wearing an impeccable piece of suiting, Arthur's only flaw in his aspect was his rather uneven yellowish teeth that were the result of smoking two packs of cigarettes a day and a large amount of coffee in the morning. Though, he didn't mind. He was not trying to impress anyone.

That night, Arthur felt oddly relaxed and chose to get rid of his navy striped jacket, remaining in a white plain shirt, navy suit pants, and brown leather suspenders. Years and years of self-taught and imposed discipline made him a master of meditation, being able to empty his mind from the tornado of paradoxical thoughts and dark, twisted desires, rather shortly. Sitting on a stool in the corner of the bar, enjoying the amber liquid burning down his throat with his eyes shut, he heard the door slamming. He was quite surprised to see the silhouette of a woman in her late 20s entering the bar, walking slowly towards the counter. He couldn't help a smirk from appearing in the corner of his lips and felt rather intrigued than bothered by his visitor on whom he hadn't laid eyes on before. "Fresh meat", he murmured in a husky tone to himself as his eyes analyzed the exquisite dark-haired woman from head to toe. She was wearing a pair of red stilettos and a knee-short tight dress that accentuated her curves in such a way that made Arthur want to down the alcohol in a heartbeat. She had the legs of a gazelle that suited perfectly her slim body. Her mocha brown hair fell in waves down her breasts and her pitch-black smoldering eyes made him wonder how has she managed to escape the gates hell. By this point, he was pretty sure that the devil sent her in order to make him pay for all his sins, and God knew, they were many. In his life, he's seen all kinds of women and had all kinds of women, but none of them had "trouble" written all over the way that she did.