Lair of Killers by Will Molinar

smile, but the man never responded, his face stayed blank. Good on him. Wait until they busted in and punched you in the mouth. Maybe that would have woken him up. A few minutes later, a tall, lanky blond man with a beard approached Zandor, a sword at his belt.
    “Shit, man,” he said. “You couldn’t pick a better place than this? Kinda skuzzy, ain’t it?”
    Zandor frowned. “Felix, I told you help ain’t allowed inside this place. Why aren’t you outside with the other pigs?”
    Felix cracked a smile and glanced around the room as he leaned next to Zandor. “Got bored. Plenty o’ pigs round here need sticking.”
    Zandor grunted. “Got that right. Damn snobs, every one of them.”
    “Snobs and slugs, that’s Murder Haven.”
    “Yep.”
    They sat back and waited. Zandor ordered them a very nice red wine from a temperate region on the other side of the continent, a nation called Margosh. Felix grinned ear to ear and slapped Zandor on the back when he took a swig.
    “Damn sight, Zee! Margoshian wine. You know how to treat your people.”
    “Watch it, will ya? These folks here aren’t used to seeing servants being so well treated by their betters.”
    “’Betters?’I can’t argue too much with that, now. Don’t know many men superior to you, Zee.”
    “Stop it. Flattery will get you everywhere.”
    Time passed. They watched the entertainment. A very accomplished bard strummed a lute and sang. A minute into his next song, Zandor heard the beginnings of some kind of commotion outside. The front door was to his left, and though there were two other exits, they were only used by employees.
    Some of these employees became concerned at the noise outside, and Zandor had to suppress a smile. Jerrod had arrived and was making contact with the guards lollygagging outside. The employees looked at one another and then yelled for a manager.
    Felix tensed, but Zandor held up a hand. “Easy, fella. Wait a tick.”
    The man settled, and Zandor watched Mr. Fancy Pants Sergeant and his cronies for a reaction. The grey bearded superior flicked his head towards the door and two of his men rushed over, swords in hand. Not very disciplined, Zandor thought. Testy fellas. Good, they were ready.
    The door burst open and three guards from outside came in with knives held to their throats by black garbed, hooded men. They pushed them forward into the tavern while the security men in house pointed and shouted. Someone screamed. The tension in the room shot upwards as everyone realized something was happening. The music stopped.
    Zandor played the part of a well off merchant who was frightened. Felix drew his sword and stood in front of him as a bodyguard. Then the hooded figures shoved their captives to the ground. They had their hands tied behind them, so they struck face first as the hoods grabbed the nearest patrons and held blades to their throats.
    A huge figure strode into the room, and Zandor recognized the athletic, confident stride of the most miserable son of a bitch that ever lived. He owned the room the second he entered.
    The sergeant stepped forward and spoke for the first time as the crowd continued to mutter.
    “What’s this? Stand down!”
    The huge figure regarded him. “Shut yer stinkin’ pie hole, or everyone dies.”
    The figure strode deeper inside and more hooded figures filed in behind him. Soon the poor guards were outnumbered and frozen solid. But then everyone started shouting at one another, and Zandor had to look on with amusement.
    “Hey! What’s going on here?”
    “You men! Put those weapons down this instant!”
    “I’ll cut her! I swear to shit I will.”
    “Put down the knife you knave!”
    “Wait!”
    “Stop this or someone will get hurt. Come now! Let’s—”
    “Back away or I gut him….”
    The large hooded man, like some executioner out of a nightmare, turned a table over with a flick of his wrists. The resulting crash was deafening.
    “Everyone! SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
    His