Post by Frank Rook on Oct 4, 2012 7:54:49 GMT -5
Frank leaned on the cane in his left hand as he started into the nightclub. It wasn’t one of those ones that looked like a rave intersected with an orgy. No, it was a nice one. Classy. Had a stage for a band, served some drinks, had a generally calm ambiance.
He groaned slightly as he made his way up the steps, flinging the door open and making his way inside before it could shut. He stopped to take a breath and took a look around, watching a young woman walk up to him. Hostess, it looked like. They exchanged the standards pleasantries, and she showed him to a table and took his drink order. Jack and coke, easy on the Jack. He wanted to blend. An old man having a drink wouldn’t be cause for alarm to anyone. And if anyone recognized him, they would run the other way. He had some damaged cartilage in one knee, and some slight nerve damage in his back and left arm. Nothing big, but it didn’t impede him much. He could use a cane with his left arm, and he could kill someone with one finger on his right hand. The trigger finger.
He thanked the woman who brought his drink and took a sip. Not bad. No burn, but he could definitely taste the alcohol in it. He made sure to sip it lightly and infrequently, not wanting to work up a buzz that would affect him in any measurable way when the time came to do something violent. And he hoped that time didn’t come. He didn’t want to have to be bailed out of a shooting situation twice in a few weeks. He’d probably use up all of his good faith.
He leaned back into his chair and took another sip from his drink, making sure to keep his right hand nestled level with his belt to hold the jacket that concealed his Glock 19 in place. For now, all he had to do was sit back and enjoy the show. He’d heard Rayne Campbell had quite the voice.
He groaned slightly as he made his way up the steps, flinging the door open and making his way inside before it could shut. He stopped to take a breath and took a look around, watching a young woman walk up to him. Hostess, it looked like. They exchanged the standards pleasantries, and she showed him to a table and took his drink order. Jack and coke, easy on the Jack. He wanted to blend. An old man having a drink wouldn’t be cause for alarm to anyone. And if anyone recognized him, they would run the other way. He had some damaged cartilage in one knee, and some slight nerve damage in his back and left arm. Nothing big, but it didn’t impede him much. He could use a cane with his left arm, and he could kill someone with one finger on his right hand. The trigger finger.
He thanked the woman who brought his drink and took a sip. Not bad. No burn, but he could definitely taste the alcohol in it. He made sure to sip it lightly and infrequently, not wanting to work up a buzz that would affect him in any measurable way when the time came to do something violent. And he hoped that time didn’t come. He didn’t want to have to be bailed out of a shooting situation twice in a few weeks. He’d probably use up all of his good faith.
He leaned back into his chair and took another sip from his drink, making sure to keep his right hand nestled level with his belt to hold the jacket that concealed his Glock 19 in place. For now, all he had to do was sit back and enjoy the show. He’d heard Rayne Campbell had quite the voice.
