THE RETURN OF THE RED BUTCHER

9

“Oh, oh…” Malo said, his voice dropping. “Sir, that is the fish seller.”

The words did not stay at Varen’s table. They moved quickly through the hall like bad smoke. One man repeated it to the next. Another turned from the gambling corner and pointed. A woman near the bar stopped dancing and stared. The music was still playing, but the laughter began to shift into something sharper.

“The fish seller?”

“That burnt fool?”

“He came here alone?”

“He must have lost his mind after what we did to his stall.”

Simon stood at the entrance without moving. His clothes were half-burned and stained with ash. His hair hung loose around his face. Smoke still clung to him, mixed with the smell of fish and blood. He looked like a man who had walked out of hell and had not decided yet who to drag back with him.

One Iron Fang member lifted his bottle. “Hey, fish man! Did you come to sell roasted fish?”

The hall erupted in laughter.

Another man clapped loudly. “No, no. He came to ask if we can rebuild his stall with empty bottles.”

“Maybe he came to beg for his boys,” a third man said, laughing harder. “Too late for that.”

Simon’s eyes moved to him.

The man’s laughter weakened, but only for a moment. Around him, the others kept laughing, louder now, proud of their own cruelty.

Varen leaned back in his seat, his gold chain shining under the dirty lights. He looked Simon up and down and shook his head in disbelief.

“This is amazing,” Varen said. “I have seen fools before, but this one came wrapped in smoke.”

Malo smiled nervously. “Boss, should I call the guards to walk in and throw him out?”

Varen raised a hand. “No. Let him stand there. I want to enjoy this.”

Simon finally spoke.

“This party is over.”

The words were not loud, but they reached every corner of the hall.

For a second, there was silence.

Then the Iron Fangs burst into wild laughter.

Varen slapped the table and laughed until his shoulders shook. “The party is over? Did you hear that? This burnt fish seller walked into my club and told me the party is over.”

A gang member near the center shouted, “Maybe he thinks he owns the place now.”

Another one bent over laughing. “He could not even protect his stall, but he wants to close our party.”

Varen stood slowly. The women around him moved away as he stepped forward. His face was full of amusement, but his eyes had turned cruel.

“You should have run,” Varen said. “That was the wise thing to do. We burnt your stall. Your boys burned. Your pride was burned. Any normal man would take what is left of his life and disappear.”

Simon did not answer.

Varen spread his arms. “But you came here. Alone. Looking like trash pulled from a fire. And then you opened your mouth to threaten me?”

The hall laughed again.

“You are stupid,” Varen continued. “No, stupid is too kind. You are the greatest fool Betford has produced.”

Simon turned around.

A few men near the entrance frowned.

“What is he doing?” one asked.

Simon reached for the heavy door and pulled it shut. The metal frame gave a deep sound as it locked into place. Then he slid the bolt across.

The click cut through the hall.

Some laughter died.

One man near the bar stood. “Where is the bouncer?”

Another looked toward the side passage. “How did this idiot even get inside?”

Malo’s face tightened. “Boss…”

Simon faced them again. His eyes looked dead. “I mean what I said. This party is over.”

Varen stared at him for a moment, then smiled slowly. “Wait like seriously, you locked yourself inside with us?”

Simon said nothing.

Varen laughed again, but this time a few men looked at each other before joining in.

“You see this?” Varen said, pointing at Simon. “This is what grief does to poor men. It makes them brave in the wrong place.”

He turned to his men. “Strip him.”

The hall stirred.

Varen’s smile widened. “Strip him naked. Flog him until his skin opens. Let him dance for us before he dies. I am in for a great treat today.”

Some of the men cheered.

“Boss, let me start.”

“No, I want his teeth.”

“I want his hair.”

Varen pointed at ten men. “You. You. You. The rest of you, stand back. I want space. I want to watch this brave fool to learn some manners.”

The ten men moved forward with ugly excitement. Some carried bottles. One of them wrapped a belt around his fist. Another had a short knife. Two cracked their knuckles like children pretending to be warriors.

One of them smiled at Simon. “Fish seller, take off your clothes or we will help you do so.”

Another spat on the floor. “You should have stayed with your ashes, you should have eaten your newly roasted fish, you should have stayed back and buried those pathetic children of yours.”

Simon looked past them at Varen. “You ordered the fire.”

Varen raised his brows. “Ordered? No. I allowed it. There is a difference.”

Malo chuckled. “If you must know fish seller, your boys screamed well, when we locked them inside your stall and set it on fire by the way.”

The room laughed again.

Simon’s fingers twitched once, he was greatly angry right now.

The man with the belt noticed and grinned. “Look, he is angry.”

Another attacker stepped closer. “Good. Angry men make better noise.”

Simon’s voice dropped. “Come.”

The first two rushed him together.

One swung the bottle toward Simon’s face. The other came low with the belt, aiming for his legs. Simon moved for the first time since entering the hall.

His hands shot out.

He caught both men by the back of their heads.

Their eyes widened.

The laughter died as Simon pulled them inward and slammed their skulls together.