Free Shallow Creek by Alistair McIntyre

violence, but that was how shit got done.  He wasn’t about to let these dickheads cheap-shot him again.  Sensing movement to his left, he pivoted and connected his boot to the side of the head of the man he’d clubbed down moments ago.
    The guy restraining Michelle started to drag her down the alley, saying, “Come on, Jasper.”  The only other thug left on his feet looked from Brendan to the other guy a few times before hesitating, and then bolting.  As he passed his counterpart, that dipshit let go of Michelle and followed suit, running like his life depended upon it.
    That much was probably true, with the murderous rage coursing through Brendan’s veins.  As he walked towards Michelle, who looked absolutely dazed and confused, he could feel the supreme tension that just begged for one more moron to come at him.  Instead, he had to just grit his teeth and clench his fists in an attempt to relieve the pressure.
    He watched the two fleeing men retreat all the way around the far corner before addressing Miche lle.
    “You okay?”
    She stared past him at the two unconscious men, and the one still writhing, gripping his face.  Brendan tapped her on the arm and repeated the question.  This time she looked up at him.
    “Uh, yeah,” she stammered.  She rubbed her arm where the thug had grabbed her.
    “You sure?”
    “I’ll live. ” Her eyes fell back on the unmoving bodies.  “Are they dead?”
    Brendan followed her gaze over his shoulder.  “I don’t think so, but it’ll take more than Advil to cure those headaches.”
    “You think this is funny?” She stared at him now the same way people did when he told some of his old war stories.  In the past he’d tried to explain to them that he wasn’t insane, but civilians couldn’t understand that.  All they saw was a guy who glorified violence, even when that violence was all that separated them from the realities of the real world.  People just had no idea what life was like outside the soft, cushy boundaries of their bubblegum existences.
    “No,” he responded evenly.  “It’s not funny.”
    She brushed past him and approached the three downed men cautiously.  The one still conscious slowly got to his feet and started weaving his way past the crates strewn behind the bar.  Every muscle in Brendan’s body wanted to chase him down and maul him unmercifully, to confirm the threat was contained, but one glance at Michelle’s face told him that was a bad idea.  He let the guy go.  Michelle didn’t seem to notice the man at all as she stared at the other two.
    “Do you recognize them?” she asked.
    “Just the one with the Mohawk,” he replied, standing next to her now.  “You know him?”
    “I’ve seen him around.”  She crossed her arms tightly.  “Kind of hard not to notice someone like him around here.  I don’t know his name, but he hung around my cousin.”
    “Good enough for me.”
    Brendan ushered Michelle quietly back through the bar and out the front towards her truck.  When she moved towards the driver’s side door, he gently redirected her to the passenger side.
    “You look like you’re in shock,” he said.  “Why don’t I drive you home?”
    She nodded as he opened her door and helped her up.  He walked back around the truck and got in behind the wheel.  As soon as he turned the key in the ignition, the chair automatically started shifting forward to Michelle’s preferred position.  With his knees jammed up against the dashboard, Brendan managed to reach over and shift the seat all the way back again.   Feeling more comfortable now, Brendan backed the truck out and headed down the road.
    Cruising silently towards Michelle’s house, the fight behind the bar replayed repeatedly through Brendan’s head.  A couple of things didn’t really make sense, like how did they know he’d be there?  Maybe they’d been spying on him and saw the two of them head into the bar.  Hell, they could’ve had a guy