Crow's Nest [✓]

Chapter 9

As they got settled into the car and hit the road on their way to the next bar, The Sailor, Thomas took a moment to address the issue of Harry's accommodation. He glanced over at Harry, a slightly hesitant expression on his face.

"You know, I was wondering... have you figured out where you're going to stay for the rest of your time here?" he asked.

Harry looked out the window, a contemplative expression on his face. "To be honest, I've been giving it some thought," he admitted. "I considered looking for a hotel, but..." He trailed off, his gaze still fixed on the passing scenery outside.

Thomas glanced at Harry, his expression sincere. "You know, if you're looking for a place to stay, my offer still stands. You're more than welcome to crash at my place during your stay," he offered, his tone casual but genuine. "I've got a spare room, and it beats paying for a hotel."

Harry looked at Thomas, a mixture of surprise and gratitude in his eyes. He hadn't expected the offer, but the idea of staying with someone rather than being alone in a hotel room was appealing.
"Are you sure it's no trouble?" he asked, the initial surprise still evident in his tone.

Thomas gave a nonchalant shrug, his tone still casual but his words weighed with serious concern. "It's no trouble at all. And besides, I think it might be safer for you to stay with me while you're here." He shot Harry a fleeting glance, his eyes conveying a hidden meaning behind his words.

Harry caught the hidden meaning in Thomas' words and his eyebrows knitted together in a slight frown. "Safer?" he asked, his tone taking on a curious edge. "What do you mean by that?"

Thomas gave a wry smile, recalling the scene back at the bar. "Well, let's just say you made quite the impression on the Russian fella and his buddies back there," he said. "When you hurled that glass at him, it didn't go unnoticed, you know. The guy you threw had a platinum ring on with an engraving. Those guys are part of the Russian Mafia."

Harry's eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning on him. "The Russian Mafia?" he repeated, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "You mean, I just threw a glass at one of their members?"

Thomas chuckled, a note of amusement in his tone. "Yep, you got it. And now, they're probably not too fond of you after that little display." He glanced at Harry, his gaze growing serious. "So, it might be best if you stay low for a while, and having you stay with me is a good way to keep you out of their sights."

Harry took a moment to process this information, the gravity of the situation sinking in. After a beat of silence, he let out a heavy sigh. "Great, so I've managed to piss off the Russian Mafia on my first day here. Perfect."

Thomas chuckled again, but the humor behind it was strained. "Well, at least you're making a lasting impression," he joked, his tone laced with a hint of worry. "But seriously, you need to be careful. The Russian Mafia isn't something to mess around with."

Harry rolled his eyes but agreed nonetheless. "Yeah, yeah, I'll try to play nice this time," he said, a hint of sarcasm lacing his tone.

After a short drive, they finally arrived at the next destination - a slightly more upscale bar than the last one. The exterior was a stark contrast to the rough establishment they'd visited earlier. The walls were all made up of wooden boards, giving you that feeling of stepping into a ship, even the windows were round instead of the usual square ones. A wooden sign hanging on some chains read 'The Sailor.'

Thomas parked the car and looked at Harry, to see if he was good to go. Harry nodded and Thomas smiled. They climbed out of the car and made their way towards the entrance of the bar.

As they entered, the atmosphere was vastly different from the previous bar. The lighting was softer, the music more refined like a sea-shanty type of music, and the overall ambiance gave off exactly what the bar's name was. The interior looked like the interior of a pirate ship, only a bit more modern. The smell of alcohol and fish filled the bar. Thomas led the way to the bar, taking a seat at a free spot. Harry followed suit, quietly surveying the surroundings.

As they settled into the barstools, Thomas took a look around the room, scoping out potential characters. The crowd was a mix of well-dressed individuals and a few shady-looking types, quietly nursing their drinks at various tables and booths.

As Thomas glanced around, his eyes fell on a man sitting alone at a table in the corner. He was a large, imposing figure, with a steely gaze and a stern demeanor. Though he was quietly sipping his drink, there was something about his presence that commanded attention.

Thomas leaned closer to Harry, keeping his voice low. "See that guy over there? The big one in the corner?" he asked, nodding subtly in the man's direction.

Harry glanced towards the corner table where Thomas indicated. His eyes landed on the man, taking in his imposing stature and intimidating presence. He shifted slightly in his seat and nodded. "Yeah, I see him," he responded, his voice equally hushed.

"He's the owner of the bar," Thomas said, his eyes moving back to the man. "I've heard whispers about him being involved in the local drug trade, but nothing confirmed."

Richard Flint, most commonly known as 'Flintstone' in the underground, named after the character Fred Flintstone. It was uncanny how much they looked the same, only this one was more slim. He always wore suits, black, blue or even maroon with an accomodating tie. He screamed importance and demanded respect. His eyes made him even scarier, thought Thomas. They were a mix of yellow and light green, making it look more like a cat's eyes.

Thomas continued to study the man, trying to glean more information from his appearance and demeanor. "He's a big player in the local underworld," he whispered to Harry, his voice barely audible over the ambient noise of the bar. "Runs more than just this bar, I suspect."

Harry absorbed the information, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the gangster. "So, you think he might know something about our drug?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

Thomas considered the question, his gaze never leaving the gangster. "Hard to say," he admitted. "But if anyone around here would have knowledge of the local drug scene, it's probably him." Thomas took a moment to assess the situation, weighing the odds of approaching the gangster. "The question is," he said, a hint of uncertainty in his tone, "is it worth the risk to go up to him and ask questions."

Harry glanced at Thomas, noticing his hesitation. "It's our best lead so far, isn't it?" he pointed out, his voice a mixture of concern and determination. "We can't just walk away without trying."

Thomas let out a sigh, knowing that Harry had a point. "You're right," he said, reluctantly conceding. "We've come this far, might as well give it a shot."

With the decision made, they both sat quietly for a moment, planning their approach.