As soon as he walked in the door, he heard a quick shuffling of feet and someone attempted to crown him in the back of the head.
Luckily, Moose stepped in. By the time he turned around, Moose was shoving the other gentleman backwards while the shovee littered the air with anything profane that came to mind.
Moose led him to a back room. He supposed that someone wanted to know what he did to make him run so fast down that street. Either that, or already knew what he did and wanted an explanation or some form of retribution.
He was hoping it wasn’t retribution.
Moose led him over to a tiny desk chair and gave him a very small but powerful shove. He took it as an indicator that he should sit his ass down and wait for further instructions.
“Mind if I smoke?” he directed the question at Moose, but didn’t bother to wait for an answer. He tapped the soft pack, and one of the family poked it’s head out it. He nipped it with his mouth and felt in his pocket for a lighter.
Moose grunted at him and produced a sterling Zippo.
“Thanks,” he said, and lit up the cigarette. He handed it back to Moose warily, but Moose could barely be bothered to look his way any longer.
They sat in silence for a bit, then he heard a voice calling Moose from somewhere far way. Moose’s head jerked up and him started lumbering towards it. He stopped suddenly and turned.
“Don’t go anywhere. I don’t feel like running again.”
He nodded and Moose continued his trek across the large room, and was eventually swallowed by the other side
After a few minutes he came back.
“Your presence,” he said. And that was it. Suddenly his breath had taken on a hint of bourbon, but neither of them mentioned it. Moose grabbed him by the arm and led him away and across to the darkness.