of the room at the bar and look around.
“Nice place,” Karber says. “Everybody, relax a bit. I want to talk about an awesome idea I just had,” he says and looks at us then looks at the bartender. The bartender was a man who looked like he was in his mid thirties maybe and had thinning brown hair and a goatee. “White Russian, please.” Karber asks.
“You? An idea? This better be good,” Grant laughs and takes a drink as he is hunched over at the bar.
“Yeah, I think it is a great idea. See, our new friend here can help us and in turn we can help him, see?” He explains and the bartender sets his drink in front of him.
“What do you mean?” Sinewy says and asks the bartender for a shot of whiskey.
“Dude, number eighty-six. Watch Sine drink this, it’s funny,” he says quietly to me. Grant sat at the end at the last stool, then Karber, then me, then Sine. I look over to my right and watch him open up a piece of the contraption covering his jaw and mouth and pours it in and then tilts back his head.
“Fuck you,” Sine mutters.
“Haha, isn’t that crazy? He’s like a damn cyborg or something,” Grant says. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to use oil in that?”
“You’d look like this, too, if you lost your mouth, jaw, and part of your neck in a gun fight,” Karber added.
I just sit there and watch these guys interact. They kind of seem like a pretty rag tag of a group. I wonder if I can really trust them now. They wanted to turn me in and then all of a sudden they are being nice. Doesn’t make much sense to me at all. But, of course, nothing has yet.
“What was your idea, Karber?” Sine asks.
“Well, there is more I need to know about you number eighty-six before I make this proposition. I want to know your story first. Why aren’t you angry that we shot you?” Karber asks me.
“I was a little, but I really don’t want any more bullets in me. I thought you’d shoot me again,” I say to him. He gives me a strange look.
“But, you took off those cuffs like they were nothing! How did you do that?” He asks.
“I don’t know. I just wanted to feel my leg to see if it was bleeding and how badly,” I explain.
“Yeah, it didn’t bleed much, did it? Are you a zombie or something?” Grant asks.
“You’ve gotta be the craziest character I’ve ever met. I’m buying you a drink! What do you like?” Karber laughs.
“Uh, I don’t know,” I say.
“Screw driver? Bloody Mary? Red headed slut? Beer? Lager? Whiskey?” Karber asks.
“What the hells the difference? He don’t feel anything, anyways!” Grant laughs.
“Don’t be rude to our new friend. Anyone who can do what he just did deserves something for it!” Karber nudges Grant. “Come on, buddy. What do you want to drink?” He says again and turns back to me.
“Anything, I guess,” I say.
“Ok then, bartender, he wants a beer, please,” Karber says.
“You guys gonna pay for these?” The bartender asks as he grabs a glass.
“Yes, sir,” Karber grabs his wallet and pulls out a card and hands it to him after the