The Seeds of War

Chapter 11

Theo wandered aimlessly, straining his ears to the harmonies of a distant band, the argument with Stefan taunting his mind with its own haunting melody.

His path intersected with that of a woman who offered her services with a seductive smile. "You lookin' for a good time?" she purred, but Theo countered with a sly grin.

"You couldn't afford me," he said, dismissing her with a nod, as she rolled her eyes and accosted the next man she set her eyes on. He stepped deeper into the city's underbelly, where the neon lights beckoned him further into indulgence.

A curious sign caught his eye— 'Kalantan the Heavenly Body' —advertising a burlesque show that promised both allure and distraction. Shrugging aside his sorrow, he entered the Silver Frolics club, where the atmosphere was alive with smoke and temptation. Velvet swings swayed under the dusky glow of the stage lights, and scantily clad women ensnared the attention of a raucous crowd, serving drinks while fending off unwanted hands.

As the dancers moved tantalisingly before him, Theo's thoughts momentarily shifted from his frustrations with Stefan to a desire that danced close to the surface. His eyes found a particular performer on stage, her movements igniting a spark of longing within him. A smirk tugged at his lips as he envisioned Brigs—the fiery woman he couldn't quite forget—in her place.

Yet, lost in his own lust and self-loathing, his respite was abruptly interrupted. Mr Harris, the boorish man fuelled by arrogance and alcohol, with friends close in tow. "Your negro daughter and her friend hit my son..." he raged, stumbling over his words.

Theo, annoyed by the intrusion, responded with a level-headed demeanour. "I have no daughter, you fool. Now move, you're stinking up my space." The disdainful words aimed to brush off the unwelcome intrusion.

However, Harris, refusing to let the matter drop, narrowed his gaze. "How dare you? No, you're not him, just some relative. Yeah, same bastard Kraut," he sneered, his words spilling forth like a toxic flood.

Theo's frustration boiled beneath the surface. He turned his attention back to the dancer, trying to re-engage with the moment, only for Harris to demand his attention again. "Are you listening to me?"

Rather than respond, Theo lifted a finger to his lips, a gesture meant to silence the raucous man. But this defiance only fuelled Harris's rage.

As the confrontation escalated, Harris's provocations pushed him over the edge. With instinctual fury, he lashed out, grabbing Harris and slamming him against the bar. "I'm trying to watch the show," Theo said, a calm rage in his voice.

With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Theo found himself caught in a flurry of punches thrown by Harris's friends. "One, two, three, yeah, I like those odds." He smirked defiantly, even as a blow split his lip. He fought back with a ferocity borne from frustration, ducking and weaving as chaos erupted around him. Women screamed and fled, the atmosphere transforming from playful indulgence to a primal spectacle of violence.

As the bouncers intervened, Theo seized an opportunity to deliver a swift kick that sent Harris sprawling. "Don't ever talk about my niece again," he bellowed, unveiling a protector deep within him that he had not known existed.

He was then hastily shoved out of the club, barred from returning. As he adjusted to the night's cool air, a sense of both defeat and exhilaration filled him. "I'll either be dead or captured soon enough," he muttered to himself, gingerly touching his freshly split lip examining the crimson droplet on his finger "verdammt" he cursed to himself, bitterly aware that tonight was a turning point—another swing of fate in the unpredictable journey he had embarked upon.

He passed his hotel's entrance, the place where he could find safety. Compelled by a reckless impulse, he found himself standing before Mateo's apartment. Hesitation almost made him turn back until he found his hand involuntarily acting on his behalf. Before he knew it, his knuckles rapped against the door with quiet caution, a tentative approach. But when the seconds without response stretched into eternity, his caution melted away, and he began to pound the door with intensity.