Suspension by Richard E. Crabbe

parlor, set up as a bar. There were maybe ten or twelve men in the room. Braddock paid them little mind. Through a beaded curtain, he could see into the next room, toward the back of the building. The laughter of young girls could be heard above the conversation in the bar. There was a man laughing too. Braddock turned to the bartender, laid a dollar on the damp mahogany, and asked for a beer. As the barkeep was pulling it, he said, “Do me a favor and tell the lady of the house I’m here.”
    The barkeep nodded, set the beer down, took his dollar, and walked into the next room without saying a word.
    â€œDamn expensive beer,” Tom said to his retreating back.
    As he stood, facing the bar, one of the patrons got up and walked toward the door. A big slouch hat did a good job of covering the man’s features. He seemed to be in a hurry. Tom watched in the mirror behind the bar, eyeing the man over the rim of his glass. Slouch-hat was almost by when Tom whirled around and caught him by the shoulder.
    â€œIn a hurry, Grafton?” Braddock asked as he swung the man around to face him. A hand came out of a coat pocket. Something flashed at Tom, but he grabbed the arm, twisting away as he did. Braddock wrenched it by him, slamming the hand into the bar. “Happy to see me, I take it. Drop the knife, you little bastard.” Tom grunted. Grafton tried to wrench away, but Braddock held firm. A quick twist and Braddock forced the arm back at a painful angle,
while bringing his knee up. The arm broke with a dull snap that sounded oddly like the breaking of rotted wood. It could be heard clearly across the room. Grafton’s shout rang loud in the bar. The knife clattered to the floor, skittering and spinning like a roulette wheel.
    â€œYou’re lucky I don’t kill you for that, you little shit.” Braddock growled, glaring at him. He pointed a big finger at Grafton. “I told you what I’d do if I caught you in here again.” Grafton just groaned and held his arm as if it might fall off. Braddock had warned him no more than a couple of weeks ago. There was no getting around it. “I told you then that you’ve roughed up your last little girl, and I meant it.”
    â€œIt ain’t fair, dammit,” Grafton whined. “Little bitch had it comin’.”
    â€œI’ll tell you what’s fair, Grafton. What’s fair is I shoot your worthless dick off right here,” Tom said with one hand on the butt of the pistol he kept tucked under his jacket. He brought it half out of the holster, his thumb on the hammer. “Ought to do it too. You got one hell of a nerve trying to stick me.” Grafton’s eyes above his clenched teeth shone with pure terror. “Ought to,” Tom said, appearing to think about it, “but this is your lucky day. I’ve got other business to attend to and no time for the likes of you.” The hand came away from under the jacket. “B’sides, looks like you’ll be wiping your ass left-handed for a while.” Braddock smirked. “Should serve as a reminder.”
    A sigh went out of Grafton, and Tom turned to the bar and picked up his beer.
    â€œHere, have a beer on me, but make it your last, you get my drift?” Grafton took the mug, an astonished look on his face. Quinn watched from the doorway, as did everyone else in the bar. Silence ruled. Grafton took a sip with a trembling left hand, a bit of foam dripping down his chin. His face was turned from Braddock. Tom didn’t see the hate in his eyes that rose to smother the little man’s fear. Suddenly Grafton smashed the mug on the bar, lunging at Tom again with the jagged glass edge. Tom backed off and sidestepped.
    â€œYou truly are beginning to annoy me, Grafton,” he said in an almost conversational tone. A swift kick to the belly doubled the man over, and a crack across the back of the head laid Grafton on the beer-soaked carpet,