Encounter With Mr. Death pt 2: The Bar
1323 Words
Ron.
The moment his name flashed across my screen, a chill ran through me.
Ron was a reporter. Which meant he spent most of his time digging into places and people that were better left alone.
That wasn’t the problem, though.
The real problem was that he always found a way to drag me into his messes. And somehow, every single time, those messes turned into disasters I ended up helping him survive.
I groaned and answered the call anyway.
“Hello—”
“Ayo, Joey. What’s the story?”
I sighed. “I know you didn’t call me just to make stupid puns.”
“Relax, Mr. Stiff. This is important business.”
Important business.
Yeah. That confirmed it.
He was absolutely about to drag me into another pile of nonsense.
“Ron, I swear if this is ano—”
“Meet me at that café in Saint Square,” he interrupted.
I frowned. “Which one?”
“The popular one. Uh… Brigham Coffee, I think.”
Brigham Coffee.
The moment he said the name, my stomach tightened.
Something about that place always made me uneasy.
I couldn’t explain why.
Still, I pushed the feeling aside.
It’s fine, I told myself.
Probably nothing.
“What time?” I asked.
“Eight.”
“Sure.”
The call ended.
Silence settled over the room as I stared at the dark screen of my phone.
My mind wandered to all the possible ways this day could go wrong.
With Ron involved, the possibilities were endless.
I leaned back in my chair and exhaled slowly.
“Maybe if I’m lucky,” I muttered to myself, “I’ll die today.”
Enough time had passed.
I arrived at Brigham, but it seemed I had gotten there before Ron.
“Where is he?” I muttered, scanning the area.
Then a familiar figure caught my eye through the café window.
Ron.
He was leaning against his car outside a bar across the street, his arms folded as though he had been waiting for a while.
I frowned.
Why was he standing over there instead of inside the café?
Either way, I didn’t have much choice. I pushed open the door and headed toward him.
“Ron,” I called as I got close enough.
He noticed me immediately.
“Shh. Come on, get down.”
His urgent tone caught me off guard, but I crouched beside him anyway.
“What’s going on? I thought we were meeting at the café.”
“Plans changed,” he replied. “We’re going straight into the bar.”
I stared at him.
“Why are we hiding outside a bar? And why are we going inside in the first place?”
Ron glanced toward the building before turning back to me.
“Remember when I called you?”
“Yeah. You said it was important.”
“Exactly.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Take a look at this.”
He handed it to me.
At first glance, it looked like an ordinary letter, but judging by the look on Ron’s face, there was nothing ordinary about it.
“What’s this?” I asked.
I got a tip about a Mafia outfit running illegal operations out of this bar.”
“Mafia?”
The word alone was enough to change my mood.
A faint sense of unease settled in my stomach.
“Where did you get this?”
Ron shrugged.
“The letter doesn't say. It was delivered to me anonymously. No name, no return address, nothing that could identify the sender.”
I looked down at the paper.
It was only a single sheet, covered in rushed handwriting that looked as though the writer had been in a hurry—or terrified.
The paper itself felt unusual too. Rougher than ordinary stationery.
For a moment I ran my fingers across it, but eventually dismissed the thought.
“So what's the plan?”
Ron glanced toward the bar.
“We go in like regular customers.”
“And then?”
“We keep our heads down, observe, and see if anything stands out.”
“That sounds suspiciously simple.”
“Because it is.”
I raised an eyebrow.
Ron smirked.
“If there's something illegal happening here, nobody's conducting business in the middle of the main room. There'll be a restricted area, a private office, a basement—something.”
“You think you'll find all that just by looking around?”
“That's the idea.”
“And if you're wrong?”
“Then we have a few drinks and go home.”
I stared at him.
“And if you're right?”
“The smirk disappeared from his face.
“Then we're probably about to get ourselves into a lot of trouble.”
“I'm not so sure about this, Ron.”
“Relax. It'll be a quick in and out. Nothing to worry about.”
Quick in and out, my ass.
There were only two possible outcomes.
Either we found nothing and wasted an evening chasing a bad lead.
Or we found something.
And if we found something, there was a good chance that something would find us too.
“Come on,” Ron said, pushing himself off the counter outside. “Let's go.”
I sighed.
“Alright.”
We stepped inside the bar and made our way to the counter.
The place was larger than I expected.
Dim lights hung from the ceiling, casting long shadows across polished wooden tables. Soft music drifted through the room, barely loud enough to drown out the quiet conversations taking place in scattered corners.
There weren't many customers.
Six.
Maybe seven.
Not counting the bartender.
I took a seat and glanced around.
“This place seems clean to me,” I whispered. “You sure somebody didn't feed you a fake story?”
The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I didn't believe them.
A bar this size should have been busier.
Far busier.
Instead, the room felt strangely empty.
Too empty.
The kind of empty that made you wonder whether everyone else knew something you didn't.
More importantly, it made me wonder whether we should leave before finding out.
Ron followed my gaze around the room.
“That's exactly what they want you to think,” he murmured. “If anything, the lack of customers makes this place even more suspicious.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
As reckless as Ron appeared, he wasn't stupid.
People often mistook his confidence for carelessness.
The truth was that he noticed far more than he let on.
It was probably the reason he was still alive despite constantly sticking his nose where it didn't belong.
“I’m gonna go around back,” Ron said, handing me a walkie-talkie.
I took it reluctantly.
“Keep an eye out for anyone who looks like they might be searching for me,” he said. “The moment you notice something, let me know.”
“Will do. Just be careful.”
He flashed me a quick grin before slipping off his stool and disappearing toward the rear exit.
I watched him go, fighting the urge to call him back.
The truth was, I wanted to leave. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to get out of there while I still could. The atmosphere inside the bar felt wrong. Conversations continued, glasses clinked, and music drifted lazily from an old speaker in the corner, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on us.
Or maybe that was just my imagination.
Either way, stopping Ron now would be pointless. Once he latched onto a lead, nothing short of a natural disaster could change his mind.
All I could do was sit tight and hope nothing went sideways.
- Writer
