Crow's Nest [✓]

Chapter 20

The sudden intervention, the unexpected order, cut through the air with a force that surprised both Harry and Johnathan, their attention suddenly drawn away from their brawl.

Standing a few feet away a figure wielding a bat emerged from the shadows, stepping into the dimly lit alley.

Harry took the moment of pause to catch his breath, his ribs aching, his face stinging from the hits it had taken. He pushed himself off the side of the wall, his gaze fixed on the newcomer, ready to size up the new threat.

The familiarity dawned on him, and he could now make out the face of the man wielding the bat as Jake, the bartender.

Jake looked at the two fighters with a mixture of anger and weariness etching his face, his knuckles white around the handle of the bat. He glared straight at Johnathan, his voice low and controlled, a clear authority in his tone.
"Enough, Johnathan. Back off, or you'll have me to deal with."

Johnathan, still in the heat of the moment, glared daggers at Jake, but a moment later, his shoulders slumped, and he backed off. "This isn't over," he grumbled, his tone filled with resentment, before turning and storming away, disappearing into the night.

Jake watched Johnathan leave, a mix of irritation and relief evident on his face, before his gaze shifted to Harry.

Jake approached Harry, the bat still in hand. He looked him up and down, taking in the condition he was in. "That was a pretty nasty fight," Jake observed dryly. "And in my alley to boot."

There was a note of resignation in his voice, as though he had seen similar brawls many times before.

Jake scratched his head, a wry smirk appearing on his lips. "Come on inside. I've got a first aid kit and a stiff drink. You could use both," he offered, a hint of genuine concern mixed with his usual rough exterior.

He was an odd mix of tough and compassionate, the kind of persona that allowed him to keep order in a place like the Rusty Nail.

Harry nodded cautiously, wary of the unexpected gesture of kindness but appreciative of it. His ribs were aching, and the thought of a drink and a moment of peace sounded tempting.

As he followed Jake into the bar, Harry couldn't help but wonder if this was a genuine offer of help or a setup in disguise. His guard remained ever present, his senses tuned for any sign of danger. The night at the Rusty Nail was far from over, it seemed.

They stepped back into the Rusty Nail. The bar hadn't changed much; the fight had been brief enough to avoid drawing too much attention. The patrons had either ignored the brawl or made themselves scarce.

Jake led Harry to a side door that opened into a small, cluttered office. The room was a stark contrast to the rest of the bar, filled with files, records, and ledgers. There was a small couch in the corner, which Jake gestured towards for Harry to sit.

Harry seated himself on the worn, but surprisingly comfortable couch, leaning back slightly against the cushions, wincing as his ribs protested the movement. He took a cursory look around the office, noting the haphazard piles of papers and the faint scent of smoke that seemed ingrained in the room.

Jake, meanwhile, set down the bat in a corner and moved to a small table where a first aid kit sat. He brought it over to Harry, setting it down before him.

"Here, let's patch you up a bit," Jake offered, his voice rough but not unkind. He knelt down in front of Harry, opening the first aid kit and laying its contents out on the small table. There were bandages, antiseptic, and even an ice pack.

"Lift up your shirt," Jake instructed, holding up the antiseptic and a few cotton pads.

Harry obliged, lifting up his shirt with a grimace. The extent of his injuries became more evident under the artificial light of the little office. His ribs were bruised, some areas already swelling. In the heat of the moment, he hadn't felt the full extent of the damage.

Jake whistled softly as he examined the bruised areas, muttering something under his breath. "That's going to sting," he warned, pouring some antiseptic onto the cotton pads.

Without further delay, Jake started treating the bruising, firmly yet carefully pressing the cotton pads soaked in the antiseptic over Harry's damaged ribs. As expected, the antiseptic stung like hell, the pain sharp and sudden. But Harry bore it silently, his jaw tightly clenched.

As Jake tended to his wounds, Harry's curiosity got the better of him. Maybe the bar's rough reputation was just a cover for Jake's hidden softer side.

"How come you know your way around a first aid kit, Jake?" he asked, his voice strained. "Doesn't seem like a skill you'd learn tending a bar."

Jake paused for a moment, his rough exterior softening just a fraction. "Oh, you'd be surprised," he said, a hint of a smirk on his face. "Tending a bar in a place like this, you see all sorts. Fists fly more often than you think. Learned first aid more out of necessity. Gotta keep my customers alive so they can come back and drink some more."

A dry chuckle followed his words, a small sign of his morbid sense of humour.

Jake continued gently dabbing the antiseptic with careful, steady movements. "Speaking of surviving bar fights," he said, his voice taking on a hint of curiosity. "You handled yourself pretty well back there. Not your first fight I'd wager."

Harry grunted, his attention back on the sting of the antiseptic. "Let's just say, I've had my fair share," he muttered, his tone a mix of pain and dry humour.

Jake finished up with Harry's wounds, the small space smelling heavily of antiseptic. He stood up, collecting the used cotton pads and disposing them in a small trash can.

He looked at Harry, his expression more contemplative than anything else. "I can tell there's more to you than meets the eye," he noted, his voice a low gruff. "Not just anyone is so eager to stir the pot around here. You're digging deeper into something, aren't you? More than just your run-of-the-mill bar brawl."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Jake's assertion, taking a moment to consider how much he should let on. The bartender seemed to have a keen perception, and his hunch was spot-on.

"You guess right," Harry admitted, his voice kept quiet so as not to be overheard by any potential eavesdroppers. "Remember when I asked you about Lucas? Let's just say he's involved in something a bit more than your average crime."

He paused, gauging Jake's reaction. It was a calculated risk, testing the bartender's intentions.