the Noise Within (2010) (27 page)

The whole room went deathly still for a split second, as if many there needed that instant to draw breath in preparation for what was to come, because immediately afterwards the place erupted.

Kyle lost track of the precise sequence of events for the next few minutes, as one thing piled upon another with no respite. He was aware of Drevers struggling to his feet and letting out a yell of rage before flinging himself at the man who had punched him, of their new friend Jim surging from his seat and grappling with somebody - an anonymous figure at least as large as he was. Further removed there was shouting and a woman's scream, while all around seemed to be one writhing, wrestling mass of arms and bodies. In the corner of his eye he caught sight of a raised chair and then he ducked as a glass sailed past, spinning as it flew. He had already lost track of Drevers by this point.

The whole thing had a slightly surreal quality, since the fighting seemed to be taking place all around without actually involving him. It was as if he were in a protected bubble, somehow separate from the violence while able to observe it, though he knew that couldn't last. He started to get up, not entirely sure what he intended to do once actually on his feet, but that became irrelevant as he was instantly felled by a swinging blow which was probably not even intended for him. If it had been then it was poorly aimed - a broad forearm slamming into him rather than a fist, which still proved enough to sweep him from his feet. His head connected with the bar as he went down, an impact more painful than the blow itself, and he took the barstool he'd been sitting on with him, the legs bruising his ribs as he fell on top of it, only to half bounce and half slide off and come to a stop with his back against the bar.

Somebody trod on his foot - not deliberately, just in the general mêlée. He quickly pulled the leg in beneath him and scrambled to get back to his feet, levering himself up against the toppled stool and clawing at the bar top.

This was just what he needed. He hadn't been involved in a fist fight since his youth and didn't recall actually winning any even then.

No sooner was he upright than Kyle found himself confronted by a man intent on knocking him back down again - a face he didn't recognise, but it was a target. He invested his punch with every ounce of the anger and indignation that the current situation had generated, and was rewarded with the satisfying sting of a solid connection. The face vanished and he was able to draw breath again.

Not for long. Another figure loomed above him and he got ready to throw another punch. Then he realised it was the mercenary soldier, Jim.

"Hey, steady on!" The man was grinning, as if he was actually enjoying himself. "I'm on your side."

"Have you seen Drevers, my friend, the one I was drinking with?"

Somebody charged them. Jim shot out a piston-like arm, not even pausing as the blow felled the attacker and he drew his fist back. "Over there."

Kyle looked in the indicated direction and saw his shipmate wrestling with a slightly larger man and getting the worst of it.

Before Kyle could think to react, Jim was across to them, dragging the large man off Drevers and flinging him into another knot of fighters. He came back, bringing an unsteady looking Drevers with him. Blood seeped from an angry cut above the smaller man's eye and his lip was split and had already begun to swell.

"Let's get out of here," Jim said, which was the best suggestion Kyle had heard since the fight began.

The three of them made their way towards the nearest of the bar's two doors, with Jim leading the way and acting as a shield for the pair of them, trying to pick a path between the clumps of still-fighting forms but perfectly willing to force a passage through when necessary. Kyle kept as close to this new friend as he could, while having to half support his groggy crewmate.

This was not how he had envisaged their first day on Frysworld panning out, not by a long shot.

They made it to the door and out into the street beyond without any major upsets. The noise of the brawl dampened abruptly as the door swung shut behind them. Music was blaring from a nearby club, mesmeric Latin rhythms featuring flailing percussive runs underpinned by thumping bass. A knot of local youths clustered outside the place, smoking and drinking from bottles of the local beer. They eyed the three of them with obvious amusement.

Kyle couldn't even be bothered to glare back in response, as he stopped to draw a deep lungful of the warm night air and gingerly massage his aching temple. The lump that was developing there already felt the size of a small egg to his questing fingers, while his foot throbbed with pain now that he took time to notice it. As for Drevers, his left eye was swelling impressively, looking as though it might close over. Jim seemed entirely unhurt and was the only one of the three with the energy to be jovial.

"Good fight; just what I needed. Where are you lads staying?"

An excellent question. "We only arrived here today, haven't sorted anywhere out as yet," Kyle explained.

"I'm at the
Harcourt. Not a bad hotel, we'll see if they've got any vacant rooms there." He went as if to head off, but then paused. "It's not the cheapest, mind."

Kyle shook his head dismissively. "Not a problem; we can afford it."

"I need a drink," Drevers interjected. Thankfully, he seemed to have recovered a little now that they were in the marginally cooler open air and was at least able to stand unaided.

Jim snorted. "Let's get the two of you cleaned up a bit first, and then we'll see about another drink. Come on," and he led them away.

They had gone no more than twenty paces down the street when a voice called out from behind them. "Hey, you three, come back here; we haven't finished with you yet!"

Kyle looked over his shoulder to see the stocky figure of a man standing outside the bar. He recognised him as the local whose punch on Drevers had triggered the brawl in the first place. Nor was he alone, but rather stood flanked by four or five hulking cronies. None of whom looked especially happy.

"Shit!" Jim exclaimed. "You two really know how to pick your enemies, don't you?"

"You know this bastard?" Drevers asked.

"Sadly, yes.
Everyone
here knows Joey 'The King' Marlowe. He's something of a local celebrity - the meanest, nastiest and most powerful crime lord on all of Frysworld. If he's really as pissed with you as he seems to be, there's nowhere on this planet you can hide where he won't find you."

"Oh great," Kyle muttered. "Is there any good news?"

"Some. He can't run very fast."

The stranger clearly didn't know Emilio at all, otherwise he would have realised that telling him to 'make yourself scarce' was a sure-fire way of guaranteeing that he would do exactly the opposite. Not that Emilio failed to take the warning seriously, far from it, and he certainly wasn't stupid, but he had no intention of missing out on whatever was about to go down

He slipped back into the bar, hugging the wall and watching the two
forastcerdos
, whose presence had just opened his way to another world, while always keeping half an eye on the stranger.

At the same time, he was scanning the room in search of a better vantage point; this current position was too exposed. If a fight broke out it would more than likely swell to encompass the whole room and he'd be swept up in things. Then he saw the stairs. They were off to his left and had a chain draped across the first step at waist height, as if to indicate they were out of bounds. Perfect; and surely no one would object to his sitting there, always assuming they noticed him at all. He sidled across towards the stairway, still hugging the walls.

There was only one awkward moment, when a hand snaked out to grab his wrist. Fortunately he was able to free himself without too much of a fuss by insisting that he really was
not
working. Thankfully, neither the stranger nor the
forastcerdos
appeared to notice the incident. It was unlike him to pass up the opportunity of a few extra Standards, but for once in his life he was loaded and whatever was about to kick off here promised to be more fun than a quick screw could ever be.

He finally reached the stairs, where he stepped daintily over the chain and climbed the first few steps, before sitting down to wait, peering between the carved wooden pillars that supported the banister rail. From here he had a good view of everything going on in the bar proper while he was sufficiently removed to feel a degree of safety.

As the minutes dragged past, Emilio's sense of anticipation slipped away and he began to get bored. Doubts started to creep into his thoughts. What if the stranger was intending to do no more than follow the
forastcerdos
after all? But then why warn Emilio to stay away? Perhaps as a cruel joke, perhaps he'd guessed that Emilio wouldn't be able to resist hanging around after being specifically told not to, knowing full well there'd be nothing worth seeing.

Emilio was about to give up, reckoning this probably was the case, when a group of newcomers entered the bar. Half a dozen or so of them, all big men, and they didn't look as if they were here for a drink. With a start, Emilio recognised one of them as Miguel, Carla's husband. Recognition brought with it a quick flashback - the remembrance of Carla above him, her long hair and fulsome breasts dangling to caress his face and chest, the latter bouncing rhythmically as she rode him with energetic abandon. He looked at Miguel and grinned.

The two
forastcerdos
didn't seem to have noticed the newcomers, but the stranger had. Emilio saw him exchange a look with the foremost of the small group; a balding man somewhat older than the others and shorter, though still solid with muscle.

This was more like it. The boy adjusted his position, making sure he was as comfortable as possible. He had a feeling things were about to get a whole lot more interesting.

The stranger now moved forward to stand at the bar beside the pair he'd been so keen to find. At first it looked as if a fight was going to break out straight away, but things quickly calmed and the three of them were soon chatting like old amigos. The fighting only began once the group of new arrivals had made their way to the bar. It was fascinating to watch their progress. As they passed a given table, conversation would stop, only to resume in agitated fashion as people's gazes followed them. By the time they actually arrived at the bar, a good half of the room had noted their presence and were watching them expectantly, as if sensing that these six muscular men could only be there for one reason.

The fighting started more or less immediately and spread almost as quickly. It was no surprise when those who had already noted the six
gamberros
as they made their way to the bar were the first to react. Some decided on the better part of valour and headed straight for the door, but the majority seemed all too ready to join in. The violence rippled out, spreading to engulf the whole room, as even those trying to leave ended up grappling with each other in their haste to get out. It looked entirely random, but Emilio knew from experience that some there would be using the brawl as an excuse to settle old scores. That was what he would have been looking to do if he weren't so loaded. The last thing he wanted now was a stint in jail or an injury.

A chair smashed against the banister supports close to his head, a shard of wood slipping through to sting his arm. He instinctively drew back. Perhaps this wasn't such a safe vantage point after all.

In all the confusion he had momentarily lost sight of the stranger and the two
forastcerdos.
He anxiously scanned the area by the bar, but couldn't see any sign of them. Then he spotted the three of them together, making their way towards the main door. They were already halfway across the room, with the stranger leading the way. One of the spacers seemed injured, or perhaps drunk, and was being helped by his fellow.

Impulsively, Emilio decided to abandon the spectacle of the ongoing brawl and follow the trio whose presence had sparked it. He got to his feet and hurried down the few stairs between him and the floor, skipping over the chain barrier and then stepping over an unconscious form sprawled at the bottom of the flight. There was a side door not that far away, but he was hampered by the need to detour around wrestling forms and duck under flailing arms. Determined not to lose sight of the stranger and his companions, he bobbed and weaved for all he was worth, eventually exiting into the night without getting caught up in the fighting.

He hurried around to the front of the building just as Miguel and the other
gamberros
emerged to shout threats at the departing trio. Then the chase was on, as everybody started running.

With a laugh of delight, Emilio set off in the wake of the
gamberros
, finding himself running alongside the hindmost, who happened to be Miguel.

"Hey, Big Man, what gives?" he called. "Why you so interested in these
forastcerdos
?"

They had raced around a couple of corners and were now out of sight of the bar. Miguel was lagging behind the other chasers and it was clear that, while he might be powerfully muscled and physically strong, his body was not meant for this sort of exertion.

"Hang on there... Emilio..." he panted, slowing to a halt. "Let's catch our breath... for a second... and I'll tell you."

So they both stopped. Miguel beckoned for him to come closer, and then leant forward to whisper in his ear, as if he was about to share the greatest secret in the world.