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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Action/Adventure · #2294989
A scene written for a writing exercise.

I parked my car and walked towards the front door. A bouncer stood outside looking like a gorilla holding a clipboard. The neon lights from the bar behind him drew a shadow onto his face accentuating his dominant brow. As I approached, he does his best standing up straight and squaring his shoulders but something about his lack of neck forces him to remain in an ape-like stoop.

"Closed, private event," he said.

I could tell in his tone he wasn't going to say it twice.

"I think if you take a gander at that clipboard in your hands you will find the name, Pelenti," I said.

The ape looked down almost as if he forgot he was even carrying a clipboard and brings it up about six inches from his face. Scanning the paper, he stopped glancing back over the top of the clipboard making eye contact with me. Primal rage floats behind his eyes.

Reluctantly, he unclips the velvet rope barring the doorway and gestures me through.

I passed through the entry and was met with a thumping boom from the techno rhythmically punching me in the chest. My ears adapt and I wade my way through a crowed and made my way up to the bar. I grabbed a seat nearest to the bartender and wave him over.

A slender man approached, dressed in all-black, a white rag draped across the shoulder of a spendy collared button up top.

"What can I get you?" He says with a smile.

"Information," I said back.

The smile quickly retired, "That's not how this works."

"How does it work then?"

"You gotta put money in the jukebox before you can get it to play."

Valid point. The man's done this kind of thing before. I supposed being this close to the big players in the city, he has probably seen some shit.

I slid across a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill over the bar top made of glistening finished wood. Permanent rings here and there mar the surface where the finish has worn through. This bar has been around for generations.

The bartender casually pocketed the bill then turned and starts cleaning some glass. Clever, I get it, ignoring me completely. I guess the song I want to play costs a little more than that. I let out a short whistle and pop another bill on the bar top.

Got him. He again pocketed the bill but this time glanced left and right ensuring privacy. We could barely hear each other over the music let alone someone nearby hearing.

"Alright, what do you wanna know?" The Bartender said. His accent, not from around here. Somewhere further north.

"I wanna know who did it."

The bartender takes a step back offended, "Jesus Christ, bro. Straight to the fuckin' point, eh?"

"I don't have time to dick around asking irrelevant shit. I came here for a reason. Now if you don't know just drop a name of someone who does."

The bartender paused. Come on just give me something. There used to be some honor in this sort of thing. By accepting my money that means he was down to play this game. Everyone knows there's danger involved in trading secrets, that's why it's expensive.

"Nah I don't want to get involved, man," the Bartender said. You could hear the fear in his tone, but he had already messed up. He either knows someone who can answer my question, or he'd seen the murder himself.

I reached over the bar and grabbed a tight hold of his shirt and brought him inches from my face. The bartender's eyebrows pointed upwards towards his forehead in peaks. "You got involved when you took my money. Now give me a name," I said, heightening the frustration in my voice.

The crowed of people packed in, the smell of sweat and spilled alcohol. No one noticed the scene I am making at the bar. I'm safe for now giving him a little more pressure. Or so I thought.

A giant hand slapped down over my shoulder with an immense strength. I've seen those ape-hands. I look backwards and was met with those primal-rage-eyes.

"You aren't who you say you are," The bouncer said in a rigid monotoned voice. As if his brain was firing on all cylinders just to piece together his words.

Before I could get a word out, I could feel my body come free from the bar stool. This ape dragged me backwards off the chair, the floor greeted me with open arms. In a blur of flashing lights and a rhythmic bump I was thrown backwards through the bars front door and quickly welcomed into the cold air of the night. Pain shot through my back as I bounced off the pavement of the street. My head whipped back off the bounce and cracked into the ground. Everything went black.

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