Eros

Killing Time - 72

Inside the 'Red Reaper' saloon, Peter sat at a small table in the corner. Light evoked from the hearth and shone dimly through the red glass of dangling oil lanterns, but left his white garments cast of undisturbed shadows. A short man soon came up to him, his hair slicked back, and a grin to his healthy cheeks.

"What's for the priest?"

Peter asked for whatever the cook was cooking, and a glass of red wine. The man nodded and turned back to the bar, collecting empty mugs from the late night tables, occupied by the roughened casuals of Deadmen's Bay. Jumpy music, blending just under the buzz of conversations and clicks of rolling dice, came from a pair of a mandolin and a flute.

Peter scanned the place, eyes tracking down its workers, trying to identify the owner who named it. He saw a scrawny man behind the bar, arguing loudly about something with several customers as he poured them drink after drink. A brunette with a pretty face and cozy grace to her brisk steps waitered all around. The cook, a big man with tattooed arms, set plates steaming with food on the kitchen counter for her to take.

Aroma thick with roasted meat, onions, and spices filled the place, making his mouth water. The short man returned soon, setting a large glass of red, and a plate with food that looked as good as it smelled. The taste didn't fall short either. Peter hoped he wouldn't need to kill the cook.

He ate with leisure, and drank in small, occasional sips, saving on the wine. There were too many people to make his move, and dawn was still a couple hours away. He had to pass time until closing, and if there's anyone more suspicious in a saloon than a priest, it was a man without a drink.

Once the plate was empty and his stomach rested full, Peter turned his eyes to track the staff. None of them seemed to have authority over the others, bringing him no closer to finding the saloon's owner. Along the back wall, stairs rose to a second floor, overlooking the saloon's center. By the dark silence up there, he assumed the floor wasn't currently in use.

Idle time pulled his thoughts back to Kaido. Should Blackrose be as close as he hoped, how should he approach him? What exactly will he ask? Peter toyed with such questions as more and more tables cleared out. Once there wasn't enough noise to drown out the music, the musicians went home. Not long after, voices were replaced by the echoes of stacking dishes. The last drunk woke from the snooze on his stool, and left.

"Pardon?" He called for the waitress as she wiped a nearby table with a rag. She jumped at the sound of his voice, then her eyes found him in his shadowy corner.

"Oh, sorry, haven't noticed you there." The brunette stepped closer, but stopped before she was actually close. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened in one of the various expressions of mistrust Peter was familiar with. There was something about his gaze that always made people reluctant to approach.

"Who named this place the Red Reaper?" Despite his teachers' best efforts, and worst punishments, Peter never took a hang with subtlety and charm. He had not the talent to coax information out of people, nor the patience for it. No need for it either. Pain was effective enough.

"We all did." The waitress said in a manner that suggested he wasn't the first to ask. "Can I get you one last drink before we close up?"

"Why did you name it after him?"

"It was the gold he won that paid for the place."

"You're friends with Kaido, then?"

"Yes. We're friends."

"Do you know where I can find him?"

The woman eyed him and his white attire with suspicion. "What business do you have with him?"