At this time of the evening the large room was almost empty. On the tiny stage a young girl; brunette, pretty, barely old enough to be allowed to drink, sang a quiet medley to the accompaniment of a small band.
The few that were here were scattered about the room, a couple at a small table quietly talking, three hard looking types dressed in dark pinstripe suits in a corner booth playing cards and smoking cigars, the smoke drifting to the ceiling creating a small hanging cloud.
This place was well known around the city mainly by the well off part of society, or those that had a tie to the mob.
The man sitting alone at the bar was neither. Average with short dark hair, he resembled nothing more than the everyday man .He sat swirling his glass of bourbon around slowly, the ice clinking against the side. The barman looked at him briefly then continued polishing the glasses; he wasn't ready for a refill yet.
Most nights were the same for him; three glasses of bourbon accompanied with never more than two cubes of ice. He was very much a creature of habit, so the barman thought.
The barman caught in the corner of his eye the man downing the rest of his bourbon. Without any exchange of words or eye contact the barman places two cubes of ice into a fresh glass and coats them in bourbon, he places it in front of him and retreats back to polishing glasses.
Tonight the man seemed even more detached and bitter thought the barman, but he never ask about it.
It was none of his business.
The place was beginning to come more alive now. The business types coming in eager to drink after another day of dreary meetings. This was also about the same time the hard types finished up their game of cards and went out back, and also the time the man from the bar downed the last of his bourbon.
Without a word or eye contact he stood, leaving behind enough money to cover his drinks and walked to the coat stand, putting on his dark black trench coat and fedora before exiting the bar.
It was cold and rainy out but that didn't matter, the bourbon warmed the body. The footpath was lit red from the neon sign above the bar door, the rest of the street was dim in comparison. Quiet jazz could be heard as he walked down the street; it was perfect company for the cold and rain, also his mood.
He paused for a minute in the middle of the street as he drew closer, letting the music envelope around him, the rain soaking his coat, drops of water dripping from the tip of the fedora. He closed his eyes, and there she was, dancing before him in a silk red, dark brunette hair falling perfectly around her face, her lips and shoes matched the silk red. The front of the dress revealed enough, it left the rest to the imagination.
She danced slowly for awhile longer before collapsing to the floor in tears, her dark brunette hair covering her face. In his mind he walked to her, getting onto a knee, placing a finger under her chin. As she raised her head he fell backwards in his mind as her tears began to match the silk red.
Standing in the middle of the street, clothes now dripping wet, he slowly opens his eyes to the cold welcome of a gun pressing against the side of his head.
'So, what'll it be?' The voice says while pulling the hammer back on the revolver.