Chapter 2 Bill Pitt

  "Afternoon, Jon."

  "Hey there, Sunny."

  At the doorway of the tavern where they both worked, Jon bumped into Sunny, another recent hire. She greeted him warmly with a bright smile. They had been colleagues for about three months now and had grown quite close.

  Sunny, with her French heritage evident in her chestnut-brown hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, wasn't strikingly beautiful but had a youthful charm at 19.

  They stepped inside, changed into their work attire, and began tidying up the place. The afternoon shift was usually quiet, but as the sun set, the crowd grew, filling the tavern with noise and activity.

  The tavern was a melting pot, hosting both decent folks and some less savory characters.

  One of the latter, clearly drunk, spotted Sunny as she walked by and brazenly pulled her onto his lap, causing her to let out a startled scream.

  The other patrons noticed but merely chuckled or looked on with indifferent curiosity.

  Hardy, who had been watching from the bar, caught the eye of the tavern owner. The owner, preoccupied with serving customers, seemed intentionally oblivious to what was happening.

  Having worked there for a few months, Hardy knew the owner lacked a spine when it came to trouble.

  But Hardy couldn't just stand by and watch Sunny being humiliated. Although he doubted the drunkard would take things too far in such a public setting, his actions were already disrespectful and degrading.

  Hardy strode over, took hold of Sunny's arm, and gently pulled her away from the man's grasp. "Go to the back," he told her calmly.

  Relieved, Sunny gave Hardy a thankful glance and quickly disappeared into the kitchen.

  The drunk, feeling humiliated in front of everyone, glared at Hardy with anger. "What's your problem, kid? You want trouble?"

  Hardy remained calm. "This is a tavern, not a place for that kind of behavior. If you're looking for something else, you're in the wrong place."

  A few onlookers chuckled at Hardy's words.

  Embarrassed and angry, the drunkard thought the laughter was directed at him. He grabbed a mug of beer and hurled it at Hardy.

  Hardy sidestepped quickly, only getting a few drops on his shirt.

  He turned to walk away, but the drunk wasn't done. Enraged, he slammed the mug down on the table, shattering it, the noise drawing even more attention.

  Hardy stopped and turned back to face him. The drunk smirked, trying to bait him into a fight.

  The crowd watched with keen interest, treating the unfolding drama as free entertainment.

  A surge of anger welled up inside Hardy. His time in this rough world had changed him. His once calm demeanor had been replaced by a more confrontational attitude.

  Hardy's eyes locked onto the drunkard, his gaze turning cold and steely. The man, catching the look in Hardy's eyes, hesitated. There was a predatory sharpness in Hardy's stare, a warning of danger, like a wolf ready to pounce.

  But pride and alcohol dulled the man's caution. "What are you looking at?" he sneered and swung a punch at Hardy.

  Hardy moved faster, his fist connecting with the man's chin with a solid crack, sending him sprawling to the floor.

  Not giving the man a chance to recover, Hardy was on him in an instant, pinning him down with a knee and gripping his shirt with one hand. With his free hand, he began delivering a series of punches to the man's face.

  Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!

  The man's struggles weakened with each blow until he lay still, groaning.

  The tavern owner rushed over, pulling Hardy back. "Jon, stop! You'll kill him!"

  The regulars stared in shock. They had never seen the usually quiet Hardy explode with such violence. If the owner hadn't intervened, he might have beaten the man to death.

  The police arrived shortly after. The drunk was sent to the hospital, while Hardy was taken into custody. He was charged with assault and awaited a court hearing.

  A week later, Hardy found himself in front of a judge.

  His lawyer presented evidence, including a psychological evaluation and testimonies from witnesses like Sunny. The judge ruled in Hardy's favor, ordering him to pay $350 in compensation, given the circumstances leading to the altercation.

  After paying legal fees and the fine, Hardy's savings were gone. He even had to sell some of his possessions, including his old Colt revolver.

  He found himself broke and out of work; the tavern owner didn't want any more trouble and had let him go.

  Word of the incident spread quickly in their small town, making it impossible for Hardy to find new employment. Everyone knew about the fight and his supposed "issues," and no one wanted to take a risk by hiring him.

  Returning to his modest apartment, Hardy was surprised to find Sunny waiting outside his door.

  "Jon, I wanted to thank you again for what you did," Sunny said softly. "I've decided to quit the tavern too. I'm leaving town."

  "Where are you headed?" Hardy asked.

  "I've saved up a little money. I'm going to go study," she replied.

  "You're still young; it's a good idea. What do you want to study?"

  "Law. I want to become a lawyer or maybe even a judge someday. Seeing what happened at the tavern, it made me realize how important justice is."

  "That's a noble goal. I wish you the best of luck," Hardy said sincerely.

  Sunny stepped closer, giving Hardy a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you again, Jon. Take care."

  "Take care, Sunny."

  As she walked away, Hardy watched her go, wondering if their paths would ever cross again. People often come and go in life, sometimes never to return.

  Lying on his bed that night, Hardy pondered his future. Staying in town was no longer an option.

  Just then, the landlord called up to him from downstairs. "Hardy, there's a phone call for you!"

  Surprised, Hardy went down and took the call. It was Bill, an old army buddy.

  Bill had been Hardy's closest friend during his service, a bond forged in the heat of battle. Hardy had even saved Bill's life once, and Bill had retired a year earlier due to an injury.

  Bill was enthusiastic on the line. "Hey, Jon! I just heard about what happened. Found your number and had to call. How's life treating you?"

  "Not great," Hardy admitted, explaining his current situation.

  Bill laughed. "No worries, man. Come out to Los Angeles. There are plenty of opportunities out here."

...

  Stepping off the long-distance bus with his suitcase, Hardy was greeted by Bill stepping out of a Ford. They embraced warmly.

  "It's been a while, hasn't it?" Bill said, grinning.

  "Yeah, almost two years. You've put on some weight," Hardy replied, taking in his friend's appearance. Bill looked just as he remembered—dark blonde hair, clear blue eyes, a bit of stubble, and a slightly chubby yet strong build.

  "I'm buff, not fat," Bill laughed and retorted.

  Throwing Hardy's suitcase into the backseat, Bill gestured toward the car. "Hop in. Let's grab a drink and catch up. You're in for an adventure here."