CHAPTER TWELVE
Laurent threw the gear into park, and ran out of the car. His fingers ruffled his hair as he glanced frantically for his friend's order blue Camry. There. He ran to it, but Max wasn't passed out there. He heard into the bar. The fact that it was almost 10:00 am didn't hide the diveness of the place, and it definitely didn't make him feel any better when the first thing that grabbed his attention was a crowd that was cheering and from what he could hear, betting on the outcome of a fight.
He ran straight there, and had to elbow through the thick space before his eyes saw what was happening. There was a man on the floor, face already bloodied and another man that kept hitting the one down. Max was 170 pounds soaking wet, and a hell of a fighter. Even with his family's affluence, he'd gained a lot of his edge and network through street fights. The fact that he was right now, curled on the floor and protecting his head could only mean one thing. He was looking for a beating. That was what he'd been worried about.
Without stopping to think about consequences, he shoved his way into the fight and picked up his friend. He had to throw a few punches, but when the other guy saw that his future would be a lot worse than what looked like a black eye and tender ribs, he raised a hand in surrender and gave up. It wasn't really a surprise that his drunk friend had picked someone mostly sober to hit him, they tended to have all their facilities in order and weren't batting their opponents.
He leaned down until he was looking his friend in the eyes, and Max was laughing. He sighed and stood up, putting a hand out. Max grunted as he extended his hand to grip his. He really hoped his ribs were only tender, not broken. Supporting him, partly because of his injuries and mostly because of his drunkenness, they left the bar together.
At the car, he opened the passenger seat, and dumped his friend inside. He had the beginnings of a black eye on his left eye, and was bleeding from a small cut on his cheeks. If he was fortunate, that and the ribs would be the only pain he had to contend with for the next few days, but he wasn't holding his breath, the other person has hit like a professional.
He sat down and stared at his friend. He was hunched forward a bit, and his long, golden hair was hiding his face.
"Where's your phone?"
Max did something that looked like tapping his pockets, but gave up halfway. He sighed again. He'd give him hell to pay as soon as he was again in control of his faculties, but for now, he tapped the pockets himself. He found a wallet but no phone. Shaking his head, he headed back into the bar and tried to look for it. In a place like this, asking wouldn't really be feasible. No one cared.
He probably hasn't taken his phone along, but that was bullshit, his friend had called him not an hour ago, which meant the phone was somewhere here, and it had either been picked by someone or he just hadn't seen it yet. The ideal thing would be to just forget about it, but as someone who had tasted extreme poverty earlier in life, that didn't sit well with him. He stepped into the musty place and heard to meet the man who had been involved in that fight.
The guy was seated with a group of people, clearly entertaining them, so he waited behind him. The audience announced his presence for him. Clearly twitchy that there was someone they didn't know behind their Star, they lost attention and started pointing and questioning the other person. It didn't take long before the man himself looked back.
When he saw him, he sighed like it was all a hassle, and leaned back in his seat. They stared at each other, the crowd also being on who'd win the stare down. The smart one among them win of course, because he averted his eyes first. As much as he'd have loved to throw a punch as greeting, he couldn't really blame him. Like him, Max was observant, and when he wanted a reaction, he knew the best things to say to get it. Their first encounter had been eerily similar to the situation he'd arrived in, but for them, they'd both been drunk. That hasn't stopped then from nearly killing each other in an alley. He remembered he'd been completely out of commission for over a week, so he wasn't in the best position to judge.
"His phone. Did you see it?" He asked, and the crowd got excited again. Looked like one fight wasn't enough for them.
But instead of satisfying them, the man just brought out the phone from his pocket and handed it over. He almost smiled when their face fell as one. He collected the phone, but the man's hands were still gripping the other side. He met his gaze.
The man looked at him for what felt like a minute before finally letting go with a simple, "That guy is going to get himself killed". He appreciated the sentiment, but he didn't acknowledge it, only collecting the phone and walking back out.
Away from all that, he lifted his eyes and breathed in deeply for the first time since he re-entered the bar. He'd never understand how the others were able to interact and enjoy themselves in that environment. That was all, the environment, nothing about how the majority of his jobs growing up had been in somewhere like that, or how only a few years ago, he'd also been like those eager ducklings desperate for a fight because the proceedings of his bet always went to his brother's medicine. It was just the environment that made him so uncomfortable, nothing more, nothing less.