The Bar

8. Trouble

Flint had seen her from across the gym. She was running on the treadmill. Even with her skin shining with sweat, beautiful was not good enough to describe her.

His eyes instantly moved to the two men walking behind her. They stopped in their tracks, one of the boys hit his friends shoulder to stop him from walking away, then he pointed to Clara.
The two men smirked, their eyes scaned her body for several moments.

Flint clenched his fists and grinds his molars. A sudden urge to hit something or someone surges through him.

The two young men watched Clara run for a minute, then suddenly one of them takes out his phone and aims it at the unsuspecting girl.

Flint was enraged, his face turning red, his legs moving quickly around the machines and the gym members.

He approached the two small men, they were fit but compared to Flint they were toothpicks.
Flint held out his hand suddenly and through his teeth says a quick warning.

"Give me the phone...now," Flint growls.

Instantly, scared out of his mind, the young man hands over the phone. Flint flips through the pictures the young man took, deleting the ones that were of Clara's backside.
Handing back the phone, Flint nods towards the door, sending a clear signal. The boys hurry out the door, still scared of the large, angry scottsman.

Those two young, scrawny, assholes were the reason why Flint ran into Clara, when he had a clear plan to avoid her. Their small conversation barely made sense. Her nerves had worried him but before voicing his concerns the girl said goodbye and hurried to the locker room.

_______________________________________

Flint walked up the back stairwell to the office above the gym. A large man, a little smaller and older than Flint, was standing in front of the doorway.

"Mr. Adler, nice to see you again," the man says. He adjusts his suit jacket and lets Flint approach the metal door.

"Mr. Cavenaugh expectin' you?"
He let his brooklyn accent seep out a little but then he tries to hide it.

"Yea," Flint says trying to relax.
This was just a social call, no business to conduct, nor will there ever be.
The bodygaurd moves and opens the door for him. Flint moves into the lavish office.

Red carpet, red walls, black accents. The couches in front of the desk were oversized. The bookshelves aligned the room were full of old books, some leather and repeated titles. The desk was large, black wood and very gaudy.

Cavenaugh shifted his gaze from the blond manager (Lila) to the large scottish bar owner that entered.

"Flint!" Cavenaugh exclaimed.

Cavenaugh was a tall white man, with black flowing shaggy hair that was combed back, as well as a groomed mustache and goatee. He had chiseled features, tight rippled muscles, tan skin and a piercing blue eyes. He wore a white button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and slacks. He ran a hand through his hair as he stood up to approach Flint.

"Lila told me you were here. Haven't seen you in a while? You go to some other gym now?" Cavenaugh says with his low deep accent.

"I'd never, just dealing with some things..."

"Hows the Port?" Cavenaugh asks.

It occures to Flint in that moment, the possibilit that it wasn't the angry customer that destroyed his bar. Flint grinds his molars and moves his fingers trying not to turn then into fists.

"You?" Flint asks accusingly pointing a finger at the man.
Cavenaughs' grin turns into serious disapointment.

"I'd never. Theres no reason to."