Prompts courtesy of Cake.shortandsweet‘s Wednesday Write In.
Dzinski got in the car, sagged back in the seat and stayed there. The windshield was frosted over and he could see his breath. At least here it was quiet. The bar was too loud.
Some people spent the holidays with their families and some spent them in bars. The people in the bars drank too much and laughed too hard and hoped somewhere between the whisky and wine they’d find something that reminded them of a time when they weren’t waist-deep in the dregs. Dzinski finished his last bottle minutes after the liquor store closed, so he had to come out here too.
But the lights were too bright and the music blared, a tinny sound from speakers likely found in the back alley. The men hunched over the bar, faces tilted to their neighbour as they swapped sad tales of how much they lost and the bright shiny plans they’d constructed to get it all back. The women wore dresses too revealing and stumbled from table to table looking for bargain bin love like some kind of drunken honeybee going from barren flower to barren flower.
Except for that one brunette at the end of the bar. She just sat there looking like the gift she just unwrapped turned out to be an empty box.
His gloved fingers fumbled a cigarette loose and he stuck it in his mouth. He pushed in the lighter and waited. His breath came out in thick plume. After a few minutes of the lighter not popping, he pulled it out and saw it was dead cold. Dzinski cursed. He pushed the lighter back in, pulled his glove off and fished the keys out of his pants pocket. He turned on the car, pushed the lighter back in and thought about himself.
He finally lit his cigarette and leaned back in the seat.
The bar door opened and some brunette walked out over the threshold. Her thin coat barely covering her. Bare thighs squeezed together against the wind.
A couple of guys with about half a neck between them came out after her. One of them grabbed the woman’s arm and started walking her to their car but she pulled free, turned back and hollered at him. The second one slithered up in her blind spot and slugged her.
She flopped over into the first mook. He hooked his arms under her shoulders and dragged her towards their car.
The gun was already in Dzinski’s hand as he got out of the car. He took three quick, quiet steps and slammed the butt into the back to the prizefighter’s head. He flopped over with a thud and his buddy dropped the woman and reached into his jacket. Or tried to. His overcoat was done up and Dzinski shot him three times before he could unbutton it. A bouquet of poinsettias bloomed on the thug’s chest as he fell backward.
Dzinski scooped up the woman. He put her in his car, pulled the old blanket off the backseat threw it over her and drove off before the crowd started pouring out of the bar.