YOU WILL NEVER FEEL INVINCIBLE – plasticbagger

December 20, 2024

a dark crust stains the rim of the fragile espresso cup. THE GOON crumples his napkin into it. he sits at the table beside the cafe entrance, stacking packets of artificial sweetener until they topple. his DOG’s drool flows between the floor panel slits. after nipping an itch on its back, THE DOG resumes watch over one of two doors at the other end of the room. baristas here don’t last long. every couple weeks, another young woman takes over. some have brewed better than others. they’ve all been fresh to the country. this new BARISTA taps away at her phone, wearing a silky red dress that compliments her breasts. “like usual?” she asks, setting aside her device mid-scroll. it’s open to a window recording of a guy getting lifted by his hoodie, then thrown against a city wall by a much larger figure, camouflaged fully in black, down to a mask that morphs their face into a pit. phones and trinkets pour from his pockets as the hooded man lands a punch. before being pummeled into submission with the metal lid of a trash can. “yes, like usual.” “so milk cafe,” THE BARISTA clicks her phone locked, “any desert?” in a small display fridge are cups of brittle dough. “i’ve lost taste for sweets,” THE ENFORCER massages the sore side of his jaw. a bell over the entrance dings. THE OLD MAN enters, pulling a notepad from his heavy jacket.

“let me rack your brain,” he approaches THE ENFORCER first, flashing his sketchbook to a page with a dot drawn in the center, “what do you see?” “a circle,” THE ENFORCER answers, knowing this could be another trick. THE BARISTA is shown next. she glances for a second, pouring cold coffee. “i see same,” she licks a splash of liquid off her finger. THE OLD MAN scooches past THE ENFORCER, “and is that you back there?” THE SOLDIER is in one of the dim bar seats. right near the back doors. hunched over a beer whose logo is covered by a damp tissue. “what do you mean, what do i see? i see a dot.” “exactly,” THE OLD MAN smirks, putting away his experiment, “everyone says that. but nobody mentions the blank space around it.” THE SOLDIER chuckles, taking a short sip, “well yeah, of course, you show someone a target and that’ll be the first thing they see.” “usual also for you?” THE BARISTA asks, handing THE ENFORCER his cup. he tips generously. “yes please. and how are you doing? i see you’ve got your nails done,” THE OLD MAN raises his eyebrows, “i don’t know how women find the time. i sometimes forget to brush my teeth.” “yes, i go morning,” THE BARISTA giggles as she prepares a tea bag. THE OLD MAN puts his hand on the THE ENFORCER’s shabby parka. could they sit together? THE ENFORCER pulls out two seats at their usual table. “you work security, right?” THE OLD MAN plops himself onto the hardly cushioned metal chair, “this crime wave must be good for business.” “i can’t tell,” THE ENFORCER swallows his coffee, “i prefer quiet nights.” wind nudges the entrance. it softly chimes with every gust. there’s been no snow this season. only ice. “you’ve gotta be careful,”  THE OLD MAN slouches back, a spot of his belly unveiled through the buttons of his dress shirt, “you hear about that crazy bastard? going out, playing cops and robbers.” “which one?” THE ENFORCER beams. “did you hear about that?” THE SOLDIER swivels to an about face, away from his beer, “i don’t pay the news a lot of attention. but what i have heard doesn’t impress me. when the world’s out of hope, there’s always someone who thinks they’re Christ in the flesh.” THE ENFORCER lets the gravity of his cup weigh on him before drinking more. 

“it was safer before she died. we went out often,” THE OLD MAN takes his shoes off, crossing one leg over the other, wiggling his toes to keep them from stiffening, “we’d go all over. my wife took me to ballets. shows at the theater. museums.” “which did you like most?” THE ENFORCER knows he’ll say museums. his favorite quote goes, “those who don’t learn history are doomed to repeat it.” but he prefers this conversation to the half-memories about his stroke. even with the latter subject, keeping him talking is for his own good. he complains of hearing walls speak. THE ENFORCER comes here before patrols. caffeine heightens his dread. one night a bigger boot will crush his own neck. “i think the theater. actors don’t know what they’re worth until they’re live. don’t get me wrong though. those times were all nice. we’d dress up, visit friends, have dinner. it was very nice. with her. and everyone else we knew. but now…no, no. it’s too dangerous. i don’t leave. i don’t step off this block.” THE OLD MAN reaches past the packs of sweeteners on the table, grabbing just a wooden stick for the green tea THE BARISTA places in front of him, “that’s how i like it, thank you…what was i saying? …oh right. i’d be the last one off the subway. i can’t climb stairs like before,” he makes a stabbing motion with his stirrer, “they can clip me at the bottom of the steps.” there is a band around his wrist: “DIABETIC.”  THE GOON tosses THE DOG a kibble from his pocket. reinstated at her station, THE BARISTA checks her phone. that last video loops. she silences it. watching him paddle his unsweetened tea, THE ENFORCER tells THE OLD MAN, “if there’s a place you wanna go, say the word. i’ll keep watch. variety’s the spice of life after all.” “my doctor says i can’t do spice…” they laugh. “…but i appreciate the offer.” 

THE BARISTA leans into the counter. her dress ripples to reveal creases of her body to THE SOLDIER. “you like go party?” she asks. “do i like to party? i do go dancing…could i get another of these?” he tips his beer at the mini bar behind her. it’s covered by a small curtain. “you know, i like party too,” she races the tips of her fingers across his hand while taking his finished bottle, tossing it in the secret garbage bin below the espresso machine. as she bends over to grab another beer, THE SOLDIER spins toward THE OLD MAN and THE ENFORCER again. “uh…” he scrambles for a sentence. was there a reason to look away? other than her being almost half his age? “…you know, i couldn’t help hearing,” he untwists a fresh beer as soon as it’s served, stuffing the cap in his pocket, despite THE BARISTA offering to take it. “things are getting bad. murder. kidnappings. traffic. no one respects the rules of the road. they’re a suggestion nowadays. a suggestion. i’m so glad i stopped driving,” THE SOLDIER takes a longer swig, “what’s more nuts is, you check out reports, they’re saying everything’s hunky dory. crime’s down. killing’s down. thievery. chicanery. inflation’s great. am i crazy? am i crazy for thinking this city’s gone crazy?” “if it gets any crazier, you’ll have to teach us to lock and load,” THE OLD MAN gestures his stick like a pistol. “not me,” THE SOLDIER turns back to the counter, “i’ve got nothing that can shoot.” “guns aren’t necessary. we used to chop off a hand for bad behavior,” THE ENFORCER feels grounded in his creaky chair, “extreme. but fair. everyone got a chance. a chance to save the hand they had left.” a chime greets the espresso bar. THE SOLDIER shakes his head, “or they’d get one lopped off and care even less about losing the other.”

THE EXILED WOMAN struts inside, styling what windblown strands of hair she has left on her balding head. THE BARISTA pretends to fiddle with the espresso machine’s silver knobs. it is one of this place’s few legitimate investments. despite it being to a pair of cold shoulders, THE EXILED WOMAN barks what sounds like an order in her native language. while strolling past, to her usual spot at the cafe’s last table, she greets both THE OLD MAN and THE SOLDIER, but not THE ENFORCER. his heart is beating fast. a sting comes and goes. he doesn’t take her personally. unlike THE OLD MAN, who weaves his way into every patron’s life, turning them candid over stale joe, THE ENFORCER makes many tightlipped. especially without his mask on. he’s neither spoken to nor avoided in most rooms. leaving her purse at the edge of her table, THE EXILED WOMAN heads towards the two back doors. THE DOG licks its nose, eyeing her. THE OLD MAN’s phone buzzes. he flips it open, sucking his teeth. “once you’re my age,” he puts his cell away,  “you stop hearing about birthdays.” as much as THE EXILED WOMAN twists the knob, the bathroom door doesn’t budge. THE SOLDIER gets up, trying to help by knocking. he gets nowhere either, “it’s locked from the other side.” as far as THE ENFORCER has seen, no one has gone in or out of the toilet.

THE GOON reaches in his trackpacks for a key. he whistles at THE BARISTA to catch. he throws it across the counter. she isn’t ready. “ah shiet,” she picks the key up from the floor, sliding it across the bar. her nail is chipped. THE SOLDIER unlocks the restroom. doddering backward, THE EXILED WOMAN knocks her purse to the ground. a sandwich bag of documents and business cards spills out, landing at THE ENFORCER’s tactical boots. a LOST SOUL steps out the lavatory. they stand in the cafe proper, staring at a stack of clean espresso cups, opening and balling their fists while mumbling. THE ENFORCER shuffles together THE EXILED WOMAN’s goods, noticing a small black-and-white photo. wrinkle free, alone, she’s on a fancy boat with a floral crown over her wavy hair. he considers showing THE OLD MAN. they’re about the same age. but he’s distracted, raising his tea at THE SOLDIER, “another of the unfortunate?” before he could give back her things, THE EXILED WOMAN snatches them from THE ENFORCER’s battered hands. “is nice of you,” she forces a small smile, “thank you for pick up.” she shuffles the photo to the back of the pile. with his beer left glistening, THE SOLDIER corrals THE LOST SOUL toward the exit. their pants are stuffed with napkins. THE EXILED WOMAN may finally relieve herself.

“how is everyone?!” THE SWINDLER bursts inside, bumping shoulders with THE LOST SOUL. “hey,” he waves his hand in their face, “are you okay? would you like to sit down?” he walks over to the table by the door, pulling up an empty seat. THE GOON winces. THE LOST SOUL  leaves without a word. “that assisted living place, the one by the gas station,” THE SOLDIER follows the bell back to his beverage, “it’s a joke. every room has five, six patients. all living together. so many. it’d make me sick. it makes them sick.” “those are the ones who never found family. i could never live in one of those. shoot me instead,” THE OLD MAN plants both feet down, “oh wait, you don’t shoot.” he blows hot air. “well, in your case, i’d make an exception,” a foamy wave hits the side of THE SOLDIER’s beer, “those dumps want the insurance money though. cuts from the government. that’s why they pack so many in. the ones who go outside, they roam around, looking for quiet spots. they’re the ones with sense still.” “i don’t know if i’d call this a quiet place,” THE SWINDLER swaggers toward the register. THE BARISTA is busy mixing, steaming and stirring a drink with an agility reserved for THE EXILED WOMAN’s orders. “hey, uh, think you could whip me up a coffee?” she doesn’t notice his finger guns. “milk with sugar?” she asks, focused on her task, but knowing his persistence nonetheless. “with milk and sugar,” THE SWINDLER chuckles, going back to that seat he’d prepared, pressing the back of it against his scrawny chest, “you’ve got to learn to speak properly.” “i don’t need lesson now.” “a lesson. don’t think i don’t know the trick with girls like you. always wanting the opposite of what they say,” he grins at THE OLD MAN and THE ENFORCER. the espresso machine spurts.

“as if it weren’t busy enough already,” THE OLD MAN scratches his belly. “is that lady still in the bathroom?” THE ENFORCER ponders, swirling his coffee, “she’s been there a while.” “the more you age, the longer it takes,” THE OLD MAN sighs, “speaking of which, i need to get laid. what about you? you got a lady?” “i don’t like anyone knowing where i am,” THE ENFORCER’s shoulder aches. “and where is that?” “if i told you,” THE ENFORCER leans back, “that’d defeat the purpose. why don’t you get with her?” he points at the bathroom door. THE BARISTA snickers. “see! you heard that,” THE OLD MAN shakes his finger, “she knows. she knows i can’t stand her. that crazy bat came in once and told me, ‘this country’s not like my country. in my country it’s safe and people are friendly.’ and i said, ‘yeah? then pack your things. i’ll pay for a cab to the airport.’ ha ha. she had a whole coffee klatch back there, haven’t you seen? they’d be sitting at that table together. cackling. talking for hours. yet behind each of their backs, she’d gossip about the ones who weren’t there. and what happened? they all found out. they switched cafes.” in one chug THE SOLDIER finishes most of his newest beer, “she ever shown you what she looked like? you can’t trust beautiful women. especially once they lose it. every chick like that talks crap.”  THE SWINDLER scrapes his chair against the floor, “isn’t that what you guys are doing too?” as the bathroom is freed, a shitty scent wafts through. it blends with a perfume of cigars permeating the back room.

THE ENFORCER’s patrols stay mostly uneventful. stick ups and slashings happen hourly, but it’s a huge city. he’s relieved to not be everywhere. especially this winter. streetlights flicker more. people shove their way through crowds. they spit and blow snot. junkies shoot up on kindergarten steps. criminals smile while being handcuffed. no one calls the police. they show up late. emboldened by their shadows, every fuck up is rebelling. to avoid this deep freeze, the homeless hide on subways. huddled under worn tarps, bandages of yesterday’s news hardened over their infected wounds. in an empty seat, THE ENFORCER lets the train shake his eyes closed. or if the caffeine hasn’t waned, he’ll watch as they twitch in their dreams. even the lunatics can sometimes be calmed without violence. a warm hotdog from the stand that never closes. an old coat scavenged from a donation bin. some travel-sized booze. enough nights without sleep make anyone feel unworthy of sun. under the scaffoldings of abandoned construction sites, prostitutes flash their coats. they let strangers fondle for free. some vulnerability goes a long way. when a thief’s arm fractures, or an attempted rapist’s dick gets snapped on the sidewalk, they all start sharing. about drug habits. sick families. hungry kids. prison time. bad luck. worse company. THE ENFORCER mixes a pack of sugar into what’s left of his cup. it becomes a sludge. bargaining never works. what scares them off a dark street is licking scum off a sole. groveling beneath a force stronger than they’ll ever be. after enough kicks to their heads, THE ENFORCER submits. he puts a hand on their dislocated shoulders. wipes away tears with the collars of their outfits. lets them get a few weakened blows in. every punch means this metropolis isn’t content to crumble. the warmth of his labored breath warms the space under his mask. mercy is what makes pain effective.

THE GAMBLER enters. he glares at the regulars. at the pastries. the espresso machine. THE DOG’s kneading feet. THE SOLDIER’s empty beer. degenerates never stay in one place. they dart around. see danger everywhere. get off on anxiety. “that’s why they’re here to gamble,” THE ENFORCER remembers telling THE OLD MAN, “they’re scared of losing. in dice games, they control the odds.” THE OLD MAN sneered, “i wouldn’t give them too much credit. they gamble because they’ve got nothing better to do. and because they have a place to do it in.” THE EXILED WOMAN glances at THE GAMBLER then back at her pocket mirror. she picks at a dry patch near her lip.  THE GOON flicks THE DOG’s ear. it lays at ease. he snaps his finger at THE BARISTA. she grabs a small clicker by the cups, buzzing the back open. on his way over, THE GAMBLER bumps his knee against THE OLD MAN and THE ENFORCER’s table. “you’ve got to be careful!,” THE SWINDLER slaps his own thigh. THE OLD MAN furrows his brows. THE GAMBLER doesn’t seem hurt or embarrassed. giving his hip a quick pat through his jeans, THE GAMBLER creeps into the hideaway before it locks shut. a smog is unleashed. THE GOON goes back to his collapsing towers. 

THE OLD MAN coughs. “doing alright?” THE ENFORCER clears his throat too. “all i can say is,” THE OLD MAN sniffles, “i can’t believe i’d go through two packs a day.” sneezing upright, THE DOG stretches, prancing over to sniff THE ENFORCER’s dangling fist. it licks the cuts between his fingers. “ah!” he pulls his arm up, cusping that slobbered hand with his other. THE GOON claps. his DOG returns to its spot. a frost has spread over the window. it’s hot inside. THE ENFORCER hasn’t taken off his coat. beyond cups of coffee, he worries about getting too involved. a brawl with an unmedicated psychotic or the member of a small migrant gang is on equal footing. he doesn’t have the courage yet to kick the wrong hornet’s nest. there are nights where he wonders if he ever will. those devils wouldn’t show grace. “did you know these are made of scraps? THE OLD MAN dangles his tea bag, swinging it hypnotically over a napkin, “it’s residue from leaves sold at a premium.” “it tastes good to me.” THE BARISTA tiptoes to not spill a single drop of THE EXILED WOMAN’s order. it has a dollop of fresh cream on top. THE ENFORCER wasn’t aware they had that. she nurses this cup with both hands. a strap on her dress is loose. it’s beginning to slip off. 

THE SWINDLER sneaks over, hoisting the strap up for her. THE BARISTA squeals, losing her footing. she splashes some of the drink on the floor. THE EXILED WOMAN laughs. “crazy girl, would trip and fall even in open, how you say,” she slaps her table to get THE OLD MAN’s attention. “what are you asking?” he straightens his spine. “you know, where is no plant. only grass everywhere?” “you mean a meadow?” “what about field?” THE SOLDIER has his head down, solving a puzzle out of jigsawed pieces of his beer bottle’s label. “no, no,” THE EXILED WOMAN’s smile disappears, “something else..i don’t know…is not important.” “she won’t have to worry about coffee for long,” THE SWINDLER tosses a few napkins atop the creamy puddle, “once my business takes off, i’ll treat her to the world.” “business?” THE OLD MAN gleams, “what business is that?” “cellphones,” THE SWINDLER says, crossing his arms, “are you in the market for one? i’ve got them cheap.” THE OLD MAN grunts, “don’t waste my time with that nonsense. you should get into home healthcare. there’s a school near here. they’ll train you. get you licensed. have you really working.” “it’s not about working. it’s about making it.” “with any job he has,” THE BARISTA grits her teeth, “i’ll never spend one second with this guy.” “oh,” THE SWINDLER looks at his watch, “she’s just that type of girl.” he leans against the wall beside the back door. THE DOG yawns. “drinking’s really not good for you,” THE SWINDLER nods at THE SOLDIER. “yeah well,” THE SOLDIER picks up his bottle like a trophy, “doesn’t mean you can’t indulge.” shouting breaks out in the hidden room. THE SWINDLER flinches, weaseling to his seat. things sound as if they’re being thrown. loud enough to bring both THE DOG and THE GOON to their feet. cloaked in a puff of tobacco, THE OWNER emerges. 

he has a flag THE ENFORCER doesn’t recognize printed across his tight T-shirt. holding the back door open, THE OWNER snaps his fingers, yelling a few words in his native tongue. THE GOON rushes through. his DOG is told to stay. quickly shutting it closed, THE OWNER nudges several times to see if the lock is secure. yelling intensifies. THE GOON joins in. there are more voices than expected. how long have they been there? is it just games of chance? or more? all the regulars glance at their drinks, wondering if this is the sign to head out. a traffic light squeaks. wind whips. drama like this isn’t too out the ordinary. THE EXILED WOMAN hasn’t touched her order. she’s rummaging through her purse. THE BARISTA wets a rag. under THE GOON’s control, the shouting gets tamer. THE SWINDLER bounces his leg, struggling to find the right second to remind her of his drink. “everybody,” THE OWNER’s cigar flames a trail while seesawing between his fingers, “a change is coming,” he takes a drag, blowing a ring toward THE BARISTA rather than the patrons, “this cafe will serve crepes soon. berries. cheese. ham. you can have for breakfast. or dinner.” the ceiling fan scatters that plume across the room. THE OLD MAN’s sinuses sputter. THE SOLDIER woozily grunts. a chunk of smoke lingers over him. THE OWNER smiles, reaching over the hollow beer to grab an ashtray behind the counter, “have you thought about it?” “i’ve thought about it,” THE SOLDIER waves towards THE BARISTA to signal another round, “but it’s better if i’m here,” he lowers his voice, not enough to be fully discreet, “this should still be a coffee shop.” THE OWNER mashes his tobacco into a ceramic plate, setting it beside THE SOLDIER’s beverage. “you’re right. so you should be more careful with these. we don’t have a liquor license.” a snuffed cigar smells worse than a burning one. more disembodied arguing. that mound of sugar in THE ENFORCER’s cup has fully melted. it’s about time to start patrol.

a cloth hangs off THE BARISTA’s chipped finger. “what for?” THE OWNER notices the messy floor, “ah. leave that. leave it. come here. you look too good to clean. let the mutt handle it,” he whistles at THE DOG, which sniffs the puddle, but chooses to sit by the back door, “this bitch needs more training.” tossing the rag onto THE SWINDLER’s table, THE BARISTA twirls into THE OWNER’s grasp. splashed by the towel, THE SWINDLER rises, patting down the wet spot on his pants. “i love what you’ve done with the place.” he walks over, going in for an unreciprocated handshake, “could i, uh, get you a coffee?” “get me a coffee?” THE OWNER pulls THE BARISTA closer. she squirms, bending her waist to be comfortable in his grip. “how do you think that coffee got here?” THE OWNER grabs his unlit cigar with his free hand. there is no humor to his voice. “f-fair enough,” THE SWINDLER nearly slips on the soaked napkins on his way next to THE EXILED WOMAN, “h-hey, we haven’t talked in forever.” “because you don’t have confidence,” THE EXILED WOMAN pushes away THE SWINDLER’s foot with her stiletto. THE OLD MAN begins to slip his shoes on. THE OWNER and THE BARISTA come over to his and THE ENFORCER’s table. “apologies for the smoke.” 

the tip of his cigar crumbles, floating into THE ENFORCER’s cup. there is a shabby wedding band on THE OWNER’s finger. “if i knew you were here,” he informs THE OLD MAN, “i would’ve put this out earlier.” “don’t you see who’s here on your gizmo?” THE OLD MAN tightens his laces. “yes…but it has…some issues now.” “ah… that cigar will kill you, you know.” “trust me,” THE OWNER chuckles, chomping on said stogie, “last year i went to the hospital.” “ah.” “well, what happen was, i got up to piss, right? when i was walking to the bathroom, my head was like, ‘what the fuck, man?’ why is my breathing so shitty? then i woke up. in the emergency room. very bad infection,” he gestures to his barrel chest, “lungs. they put a tube in my throat. everything.” “this story’s no good,” THE BARISTA rubs his bicep, “i don’t like. because i vape.” THE OWNER cringes, “yeah…it was a shit experience. if my wife didn’t find me, i would be kaput.” THE BARISTA looks down at the unattended accident. “and yet,” THE OLD MAN smirks, sliding on a sleeve of his jacket, “you still smoke.” “this keeps me strong. with the bad, you must take the good,” THE OWNER casts himself over THE ENFORCER, “and what’s this? you’re friends with this guy? he doesn’t make friends.” THE EXILED WOMAN sighs. another argument echoes. THE DOG barks. “…this guy’s funny. he sits here. hearing every little thing. minding his business…” THE SWINDLER sits on the edge of his seat. THE OLD MAN struggles to rise out of his chair. “…with those, you must be careful. there’s a reason they learned to keep their mouth shut.” THE ENFORCER gets up, reaching out to take THE OLD MAN’s hand, “do you need help?” “i’ll be fine,” he groans, “i’ve got it.” face-to-face, THE ENFORCER sees that same glint of madness in THE OWNER’s eyes as he’s seen in every altercation. that’s a thing one only notices real close. THE OWNER grins. he doesn’t blink. 

at first the yelling sounds like commands. they quickly become desperate pleas. one by one they dissipate. until finally it is just THE GOON. he bangs on the back door. his DOG is on all fours. clawing. AaAhAhaAAh!!!!  THE OWNER lets go of THE BARISTA. she runs back to the safety of the register, ducking under it. THE ENFORCER knows the sound of a skull being bashed. THE DOG tries to dig through. the doorknob rattles. then stops. before firing across the espresso bar. right into THE SWINDLER’s leg as he tries to bolt. knocked into the entrance table, he shatters THE GOON’s espresso cup, then limps out to a gentle chime. THE DOG shrieks. cold air circulates. THE SOLDIER stumbles, shielding THE EXILED WOMAN. she shakes, spilling her drink while taking a first sip, scanning for how to escape. the back creaks open. THE ENFORCER squats in front of THE OLD MAN, who has started breathing heavy. THE GOON’s corpse slumps into public view. a chunk of his stomach is shredded. THE GAMBLER tramples over his carcass. globs of skin and fat are plastered on the door. THE DOG rushes over, pushing its snout into its master’s seeping wounds. a piece of kibble trickles out of his pants. 

THE GAMBLER squeezes his knife tight. thumb hovering over a button near the top of its thick handle. the blade drips. in his gut, THE ENFORCER can sense THE SOLDIER is ready to pounce. THE OLD MAN wheezes. “you’re crazy piece a’ shit,” THE OWNER takes a step back, raising his fist, “you fucked up,” THE OWNER switches to his other tongue. “i don’t feel so hot,” THE OLD MAN tugs at THE ENFORCER. THE GAMBLER inches closer, fully fixed on THE OWNER. swelling under his heel, the cigar erupts into a dirty mash. THE OWNER grabs the empty beer. THE GAMBLER lunges, slipping on the spill. THE OLD MAN falls out of his chair. he crawls against the wall, struggling to take air. THE ENFORCER grabs him by the collar, shaking him, “what’s wrong?! what’s wrong?!” as THE GAMBLER finds his bearings, THE OWNER swings the bottle at his temple. it splinters. THE GAMBLER snarls, stabbing THE OWNER through his jeans. right in his calf. he presses the button. pressurized air shoots through the tip. a tear in the denim exposes bone. plasma splatters across THE ENFORCER’s smashed nose, entering through his cut lips onto receded gums. THE OWNER falls to his knees. THE GAMBLER gores into his rib. THE OWNER burps up blood. more of it leaks from his tear ducts. THE OLD MAN loses consciousness. THE ENFORCER tries slapping him awake. “he’s having a heart attack! what the fuck are you doing?!” THE GAMBLER makes his exit, yanking on the entrance so hard the bell falls. it lands with a thud. a chill goes down THE ENFORCER’s spine. he pushes his entire weight into THE OLD MAN’s chest, timing each compression to the quiver of his own heart. 

THE SOLDIER runs over. “move! move!” he shoves THE ENFORCER off, continuing CPR. he knows where to apply pressure. without second guessing. THE OWNER is sprawled out. convulsing. he rests his gagging head on top of THE ENFORCER’s boot. to avoid unnecessary prints, THE ENFORCER uses his other foot to slide the limp cigar across a puddle of blood. he pushes it into THE OWNER’s mouth, who suckles with his remaining strength. “he’s gone,” THE SOLDIER soberly announces. “so’s he,” THE ENFORCER yanks his foot away, letting THE OWNER’s head bang hardwood. “fucking hell,” THE SOLDIER looks at the bodies, “i’ve never seen anything like this.” “me neither,” THE ENFORCER props THE OLD MAN’s body up to look distinguished. he’s still warm. a pulse removed from his usual tales. “wait, you’re not soldier? you always told you was soldier,” THE EXILED WOMAN regains her composure, shooing THE DOG away whilst picking THE GOON’s pocket. “i was a soldier,” he closes THE OLD MAN’s mouth, “but i’ve never been in war. i enlisted during peaceful times…” she collects any cash, leaving the rest where it would be, before doing the same to THE OWNER. “…always thought that meant i didn’t really serve. but seeing this, i-i’ve gotta say, i was lucky…hey?!” after yanking THE OWNER’s ring off, THE EXILED WOMAN aims to plunder THE OLD MAN too. 

“those others were fine, but let’s not disrespect him,” THE ENFORCER stands in her way. there were times he’d almost slipped up. mentioned his hospital bills to THE OLD MAN. alluded to a failed engagement. “yeah, this is uncouth,” THE SOLDIER steps next to THE ENFORCER. “i have a lot respek for this guy,” she shoves them both with her bag, taking the last couple dollars in THE OLD MAN’s wallet, “he doesn’t need.” THE BARISTA is still shivering on the floor. “stupid girl, why you wait?” THE EXILED WOMAN empties both register and tip jar. “don’t wait,” she says, giving THE BARISTA all that loot. her dress doesn’t have pockets. THE EXILED WOMAN chortles, pulling out the pile of documents, handing THE BARISTA her purse, “now go, idiot. don’t get lost on next block.” THE BARISTA stifles a smile before running out. “i’ll call an ambulance once you’re also gone,” THE SOLDIER smiles at THE ENFORCER, “they’ll bring a squad car,” THE DOG sniffs THE SOLDIER, debating whether to enlist, “it’s better if you’re not here. remember, you’re not Christ in the flesh.”