The Bar

22. Cult

Flint woke to the ringing of his phone. It was midnight and Flint had been sound asleep holding Clara close to him. Flint answered the phone, sitting up, desperately trying not to wake the exhausted and sore woman beside him.

"What?" He said groggily yet with enough anger to make Najeem hesitate to answer.

"Four guys just came into the bar, their looking for Clara and they look pretty pissed," Najeem explains.

Flint looks over his shoulder at the angelic woman who is unaware of what is taking place. She curls up, her back facing Flint, her face seemed sad and innocent like she was having a bad dream again.

"I'm on my way, don't do anything groundless," Flint whispered then ended the call.

Flint leans back behind the girl and kisses her temple then presses his lips to her ear.

"Najeem needs help with something. I'll be back before you wake up," he says. She mumbles groggily in a reply.
Flint kisses her cheek then her bare shoulder. The taste of her skin faintly remains on his lips. The rememberance of her soft skin imprinted in his brain.

He gets dressed and grabs his keys, making sure to lock up before leaving the house. He arrives at the bar rather quickly, parking in his usual spot, away from the drukened patrons. He walks down the side street and to his bar hastily with anger and worriedness shaking his bones.

Najeem had been watching the four men sit at table five for nearly 30 minutes. They sat and drank tap water while conversing deeply about something. Najeem had instructed the other waitresses to not talk to the four men and they obliged, not wanting the four strangers to harm their new friend.

Flint approached the bar, standing beside a very focused and worried Najeem.

"Which table?" Flint asks.

"Table five. They keep asking the girls if they know a tall, red headed, beast who drives a black camaro," Najeem says raising an eyebrow at his friend and boss.

Flint ignores the comment for now, gazing over at table five. Three out of the four of them are complete strangers to the bar owner, however the fourth man is known. Flint had wanted to kill the fourth man since the two met. Anger fills him like water filling a cup. He taps his fingers on the counter, images of the small, scrawney, beautiful woman enters his mind. The images of her scarred back and pelvis has him clawing at the wood surface. He clenches his jaw wanting to hit the tall, scrawney man, that is Clara's father, over the head with a beer bottle.
He feels a sense of shame come over him as he remembers promising the beautiful young girl that he would not become violent towards her father the day they had left to get her clothes.

Flint was a man who kept his word, but his anger usually overcame him. His anger was like a storm, causing the sea to become violent, to wreck ships and flood islands. His anger caused typhoons, hurricanes. Even then, with the crashing waves of anger, he was able to control it. Flint is able to steer his ship through the storms of his anger, living up to his nickname as the captain. There was an exception to his anger. The exception was a small framed girl with golden hair. The exception currently laid in his bed.

Flint stares at the table and warns his friend.
"If the tall one with the black hair tries to take a swing at me, call the police, because once I hit him, I'm not stopping," Flint says then turns to move around the bar and up the three small steps to the dinning platform.

Flint approaches table five. The four men look up at him, startled and worried. They knew they were looking for Clara or the red headed beast that was with her early Sunday morning, but they didn't realize how big the beast was.
The men are silent for a moment, a staring contest of sorts, however three out of the four men begin to look away and to the fourth man.