“Have ya’ seen anything else like this?” he asked, voice lowering, his eyes reading every nuance in Ollie’s face. Tracking his eyes, watching his mouth, reading every twitch and quiver like a book.
“In all my life, not only have I never seen anything even close to that, if I ever did again I'd likely kill myself.”
“Rest assured, sir, if ye’ e'er saw something like this again, you'd be dead before ye’ 'ad the chance.”
He swung the blade around and slid it back into the sheath with that same silent whisper. The man turned to the rabble and took them all in with one glance. “How ‘bout any of ya’? I can see by the looks on yer’ faces tha’ most of ya’ saw the same thin’ he did. 'Ave ya’ e'er seen somethin’ like this before? Anywhere or anytime in yer’ life?”
He walked slowly around the tables, taking in all the people, reading them all like he read Ollie. A loud man came in, laughing uproariously with a working girl on his arm. He turned to the scene of a man, huge and demonic, walking around a stunned and silent bar with all eyes on him in a mix of fear and amazement. He quickly shut up, gripped his evening’s entertainment around her waist, and quickly led her back out the door. The motion would be quite comical in later retellings.
The room was fixated on this man, but no one seemed to be able to help him. Shamed faces and looks of uneasiness were everywhere he looked.
“I have seen what you seek,” said a grizzled voice from a dark corner.
Ollie knew without looking that it was the old man he'd locked eyes with before. The large guest turned to the source of the voice and walked briskly to his table.
“If ye'd tell the tale, old man, I'd love t’ hear it.” Once the way out was clear, the bar emptied quickly, with everyone racing for the door pushing each other and scampering like dogs to dinner.
Ollie had to see this play out, so he held his spot behind the bar while resting his hand on the well-used rifle nonetheless.
“If I tell you my tale, I want your word you and your damn sin-stick will get the hell out of my sight and not ever come back. I've seen your kind before and no good ever came out of it. Not here, not anywhere.”
Ollie was dumbfounded that this old man had the gall to talk like that to someone so much bigger than him. He sat frozen, hand on the rifle, prepared for any motion toward the drunken old-timer.
No hostile motion came though. Just a “Humph” from the man and a steely glare from the senior.
“And wha’ kind of person am I?” the man asked. The geezer seemed to have his attention.
A cold smirk came to a toothless mouth and the old man hissed, “A slave of the forbidden ways. A minion of the Power. Mark my words, fire-man; no good ever came out of embracing what you play with.”
The man seemed to relax and settled into a chair across the table. “I've not the time to tell ye’ wha’ I am and how I conduct my business. And I certainly can't get into the inaccuracies of yer’ thoughts about the powers ya’ speak of, but I give my word tha’ if ya’ give me somethin' worthwhile, I will ne'er trouble yer’ ol’ eyes again.”
The old man spat in his hand, although not much moisture came out. He extended his arm straight, like a branch from a young tree. “We shake on that, and should I ever see you again, I'll get the delightful chance to run you through myself.”
Ollie nearly fainted as the man sat there looking at the extended hand, seeming to hesitate a moment. Could it be that this old man threw this stranger off his guard? From where Ollie stood, it sure looked that way.
The man began to speak but was cut short by the older man shushing him and thrusting his hand into his face. “Don't burden me again until you make my deal!”
Ollie wasn't sure it was meant to sound so forceful, but it didn't seem to faze either one of them. Ollie was glad he didn't leave.
Without saying anything else, the man spit into his hand, which gave the bartender the shivers as he saw sparks fly like fireflies from his mouth as he did so, followed by what he guessed was steam or smoke rising from his palm.
He wanted to stop the old man as this was clearly a deal with the Devil Himself, and then thought better of it. This was not his situation to deal with, and if he was a devil, it was better not to stop a deal in progress. Stay silent and live to tell the tale.
The old man seemed not to care, if indeed it was hot at all, as they shook hands with force and purpose.
“I won't trouble ya again, and I’m a man o’ my word. Now let us talk.”
The old man looked up to Ollie and quickly asked for another drink. The man turned and requested a refill of his. Ollie brought them over, sure to be as efficient as possible, and quickly faded away back to the bar.
“Leave us, Ollie, and lock the door, please. I promise we won't be long. The less I have to be around this godless devil, the better.”
Ollie never questioned the order and went over to latch the door, not caring in the slightest about the lost income. Thanks to the coins the man had given him he had more than enough to cover the evening take. Ollie left into the kitchen, thankful to be away, though he was quite sorry he didn't get to hear the tale.
Chapter
