One finger,Two pounds
One night in a quiet part of a city,this bar like most,houses men looking to drown their fears and sorrows in a glass cup filled with a dark alcohol. The men quickly gulp the liquid down to feel a warm heat wash over their bodies, and in most bars there is a man who likes to tell tails of the various men he has fought or the numbers of the weights he has lifted with a single hand.
“i've got so ripped in the past year. Some little guy got in my way last night at a club and wouldn't let me cut in front of him. I picked that chump up and hit him so hard! I could probably kill a man with my bare hands now.” he says to the young woman sitting next to him on a bar stool.
“That little guy could have killed you just as easily, just didn't get the chance.”
The big man looks to find a rather slim figure cloaked in a black trench coat and wide brimmed fedora at the end of the dimly lit bar.The whole bar seems to come to a stand still as if time has slowed to a near stop while everyone watches as the big man turns his seat.
“And how is that stranger? I can lift 100 pounds with a single hand, and you are telling me some little guy can kill me?”
The man shrouded in mystery lifts a single hand from the bar and points his index finger to the sky.
“Do you see this finger? This one,single,solitary finger,could kill you.”
“Oh yeah?! Lets test that!” The man raises from his chair with wide eyes,filled with fury and pride and takes quick steps to the mystery man at the end of the bar. He reaches for the man when the last boot hits the wood floor. With one quick,fluid,graceful movement,the cloaked man draws a shiny silver revolver and presses it against the gorilla-like mans chest.
Gasps and shifting of feet are the only thing that is heard for a moment. The large chested punk stands without a movement as the color drains from his face,scared to move,blink or twitch.
The cloaked man breaks the silence by picking up his drink with his empty left hand,taking a gulp and slamming the small glass on the bar top.
“My one finger only has to pull two pounds on this trigger to blast your heart straight out the other side of your back.”
With one solid push,the muzzle shoves him backwards into an empty table.
“One finger,Two pounds is all it takes.”
The gun slowly pulls away from his chest and quickly spins back into his holster and without another word his heavy boots tromp slowly to the door. His hand swings the door open to be greeted by the sounds of cars passing in the wet streets as the cold Chicago rain shimmers on the ground from the headlights of the cars,and the neon sign above the bar spelling out “Downtown pub”. The man shrouded in mystery and cloaked in darkness,slowly walks through the Chicago streets never to be seen again.
