Freddie Bianchi and Juliette Dupont are polar opposites.
She's hot, he's cold. She makes jokes, he takes them to heart. He's only an inch taller than her, and she makes fun of him ever chance she gets.
He calls her a dumb blonde, and albeit she's he...
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TW A SHIT LOAD OF VIOLENCE
The bar was your run of the mill small town bar. I walked in and ordered my whiskey.
And when I took my cash out, the pretty little picture fell out. There was a group of men to my right, they were tall and annoying looking, and one of them noticed my cane and decided to be a good Samaritan and pick it up.
He glanced at the picture, then twisted his hand and showed his mates.
"Here you go, man," He said and held the picture out to me.
"Shit, thanks," I said and shoved it back into my wallet. There was something at the very tip of his tongue, and I took a sip that I savoured before I turned to him. He turned and looked at the bartender, and that's when I noticed the scratch marks at the side of his neck.
I smiled, and then he finally said it.
"Don't tell me you're the governor's daughter's boyfriend," He said it like you say a joke, but no one laughed except his two friends.
Nobody in the bar laughed, because they knew better than to feed into the amusement at my expense.
"Lopez," I said, and the bartender appeared at my side. "Clear out, please,"
He gave me a single nod before he turned the music off. He started waving his hands, "You heard the boss! Bedtime!" He called, and through many groans from customers, I caught the gaze of the man.
Lopez locked the front doors and went out the back.
"Now, gentlemen," I reached behind the bar and retrieved my full whiskey bottle. And the bat. I filled my glass as one of them said, "Listen, man, we don't want trouble, okay?"
I took a sip, "Should've thought of that before you attacked Ms Dupont, no?"
The three of them were starting to get restless. Starting to realize the devastating state of their end. They only now noticed the doors were closed and locked, and then I had a bat and when I took the Glock from behind my trousers and put it on the counter, they scurried away and held up their hands.
Pussies.
But one of them, I'm guessing the youngest one, didn't look very impressed with me.
He whispered, "He's got a fucking cane, guys. We can't fuck up a disabled guy,"
I laughed into my whiskey. I took my cane from where it rests against the counter and shortened it, put it on the counter and tossed back my whiskey. I rolled up my sleeves, and then the Samaritan lost his fucking mind and dashed towards me, completely unprovoked.
Goddamn.
My whiskey bottle whipped through the air and crashed against the side of his head, whiskey splashing every where, glass shattering. He dropped to the ground and with my better leg, I landed a hit to his red face that was sure to have knocked him out.
