#jwff

The Claim, chapter 2 has been posted! :

THE CLAIM: CHAPTER 6, now posted!

The Claim, chapter 3 now uploaded: 

Here you go my love 

xoxo

Of all of Viggo’s establishments and properties, Cain’s was without a doubt the only one John Wick would willingly find himself in. Unlike the other clubs and bars, which were chic and modern in design, Cain’s was a dive. There was cheap whiskey and cheaper beer and not much else in selection.

The walls were lined with tattered posters and dart boards Beaten up license plates traced the bar. And there was no room for dancing, thank god. Only pool tables and space for people to sit during Wednesday night trivia.

It was Thursday, though, and the usual crowd of corrupt cops, mob agents, and local drunks were all settled in.

John walked in, eyes sweeping the room. Viggo was in the corner meeting with some business man. It didn’t much matter who. They were all the same. 

Bet set aside from the men gathered in business suits and the female agents and assassins dressed all in black, there was only one who stood out. 

He didn’t recognize her and this was not a place that idly welcomed newcomers.

She was probably ten years younger than him. Give or take.

Average height, average build. Dark brown hair that hung loose as she shot a striped ball into a side pocket with a practiced ease.She stood up, her hair flipping back over her shoulders as she did.

He feels himself swallow and catches himself as he does. Attraction is foreign. He has always had the ability to notice and appreciate beauty, but never has it associated itself with a sense of longing. That is… new.

He looks away and walks over to the bartender and nods. He’s here enough he doesn’t need to order. 

A bourbon is set in front of him and he sips it back. 

“Do you play?” One of Viggo’s lieutenants asks, pulling up a stool near where he stands. “Pool?”

“Used to.”

“But not anymore?”

John shrugs.

The lieutenant huffs ,”What do you do, Wick? Kill people and sleep?”

John shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah.”

“And that’s it?”

“Sometimes I eat.”

A beat passes, “You really are something. You eat, you sleep, and you kill. Efficient. Like a motherfucking machine. Barely even human. I guess you’d have to be, doing what you do.”

John stays silent, taking another sip of bourbon.

“But come on? No hobbies? Nothing you do to kill time? You go to the movies? The theater?”

He raises his hand to the bartender, signalling for another and looks back at Viggo’s lieutenant. Petyr? Pietro? He couldn’t remember as his eyes glazed passed him to the woman playing pool.

“I bind books.” He admits.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Binding books? It means I take old, tattered books and I put them back together.”

“Why?”

John blinks in confusion, “because they’re broken. They need to be fixed.”

From behind the lieutenant he can see that woman bend down low towards the table, letting her eyes line up with the last ball. The eight. “Corner pocket.” She says and her voice is soft and sweet and it makes him suddenly aware of how fast his heart can beat. 

“Christ. You really don’t know how to have fun do you?” The lieutenant follows John’s gaze passed himself to the pool table and the woman, now sinking the final ball. “Or maybe you do.” He looks back at John, “Huh. Guess you are human.”

John looks away as the bartender slips him a new drink. “Never claimed I wasn’t.”

“Maybe not. But you sure act like you aren’t. You got a girl, Wick?”

John downs the drink quickly. “No.”

The lieutenant glances back as the woman collects a wad of cash from whoever she just demolished. “She’s hot.”

He shrugs, not really sure of what to say. She was beautiful. That little smile on her face as she sat on the edge of the pool table, sipping at her own drink. She was listening, nodding along to whatever the few men gathered around her were saying. 

One of the man says something that makes her laugh and then he turns, loudly calling out the bar, “200 dollars down, if you can beat this woman!” 

The lieutenant grins and John feels his arm being thrown up into the air. His immediate urge is to throw a punch but he remembers where he is in time, just as Viggo’s man calls out, “I got a live one for you!”

“What are you doing?” John asked, pulling his hand back down. 

“Getting you to do something with your life other than kill, sleep, or binding books.”

“Binding books?” The woman asks, stepping over to where they stand. “Interesting work.”

“Keeps me busy.” John replies, “But I’m all set on the pool.”

“Oh?” She slides up to the bar, standing between John and the lieutenant. “Afraid?”

“Of you?” It’s hard not to smile as he asks the question. She might be good at pool but even in the black vest and tight pants, she looked like an out of place angel more than anything else.

“I’m an intimidating woman.” She says it with a sweet little smirk that makes his pants feel just a bit too tight.

“I bet.”

“Come on, handsome. I’ll make it worth your while. An extra two-hundred bucks in your pocket ain’t nothing.”

“Two hundred bucks will do little for me.”

“Then let’s go higher. Three hundred? Five hundred?” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the wad of cash she’s won. “Hell, if you beat me, I’ll give you the five hundred and I’ll let you buy me a drink.”

That was… pretty damn tempting.

“Life is short, Wick.” The Lieutenant raises a glass to him.

“So is my offer.” The woman tilts her head to the side, “How about it?”

A moment passes and he feels his head nod. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and pulls out five hundred dollar bills and hands it to the liutenant. The woman counts out five hundred and passes it to him as well.

 She reaches out and grabs his hand. “Come on.” She says, moving a few steps backwards and pulling him out of his seat. He finds himself following her, almost helplessly, ignoring the eyes that were on him as he did something so uncharacteristically John Wick. 

John feels his throat go tight. She is so very close to him. He was going to kill Petyr or Pietro or whatever the bastard’s name was. 

Viggo would have a field day with this.

“I’m Helen, by the way.”

“John.”

She shoots him a smile, “Nice to meet you, John.” She releases his hand to grab him a pool stick. “Do you want to break?”

“All yours.”

She takes her own and walks to the other side of the table and lines up her shot. She draws back and slams forwards, sending the cue ball flying into the others. She sinks two striped balls before standing and smiling at him. “Stripes.”

She shoots again and sinks a third. Her fourth shot is a miss but not an aimless hit as it rocks one closer to the side for her.

John crosses to the other side, idly noting the attention they were getting. The lieutenant was now taking bets, scratching them down onto the back of a receipt.

He lines up his shot and sinks his first ball. Then the next. 

Helen smiles softly as she watches his technique, the way he lines up and shoots.

She was utterly beautiful just standing there but that smile, directed at him… breathtaking. There was no other way to describe it.

He wasn’t sure what to do with it. She was just a girl. Someone in a bar, who he would likely never see again.

He misses his next shot and tries to blame it on something other than his own captivation with the woman in front of him.

With a practiced ease he wasn’t expecting, she slips around the table. Shot after shot after shot, sinking another three balls.

There is a commotion around them. A few assassins lining up and watching, throwing “ooohh!”s out every time Helen sunk a ball.She shoots again and sinks the last of the striped balls. In only five minutes, she has already nearly cleared the table.

The eight ball is in the middle of several of his. She frowns as she walks around the table. 

“Side pocket.” She says but her goal isn’t to sink it, just to get it out of the way. She does so and John looks at the table.

He’s sunk three. Which means he has to get five to stop her from winning.

“Ooh, Wick, you're fucked!” Someone calls from the bar.

He ignores them, walking around, trying to figure out his best course of action. Where can he shoot to successfully sink a ball but not screw himself over with the next shot?

He sinks the first easily. And the second.

He lines up his third shot.

“Fuck it up!” Someone calls from the bar and there is a chorus of cheers. 

He feels the stick slip as it goes in motion, knocking the cue ball forward but not nearly enough for it to sink his intended target.

Helen says nothing as she lines up again, “Corner pocket.” She shoots and it sinks.

The audience accumulated erupts in equal measures of cheers and groans.

“The fuck was that, Wick?” One calls, “That was shite!”

“I bet good money on you, man!”

“Wick just got his ass handed to him!”

“Toke, can I get the bill?” Helen calls to the bartender before looking back at John. “Don’t listen to them. You weren’t terrible.”

John shrugs, “But you won. Well done. Double or nothing?”

She tilts her head, “Book binding money really that good?”

“Better than you’d think.”

She hums, “Alright. If you think you’re up for it?”

There is no small amount of hooting and hollering from their audience as Wick takes out the rest of the money from his wallet and hands it over to the Lieutenant.

“That hurt to watch, Wick. You best get your ass in gear.”

John gives him a small glare before walking back to the table. “Rack it up.”

The bartender brings her the bill and she signs off, snatching the pencil before it is taken away. She wraps her hair up and slides the pencil back to keep her loose bun in place.

“Want to break this time?” She asks and John shrugs.

John nods, “Okay.”

He shoots and the balls scatter. None sink, much to his dismay.

“It’s okay.” She tells him, walking around and lining up her own shot, “Sometimes it takes a while for a guy to get his balls to drop.”

“OH SHIT!” One of the guys yells and he does his best to ignore the clambering.

She sinks the first one she aims for, calling stripes for herself yet again.

“That was terrible.” He says, the slightest hint of a smile on his face as she lines up her second shot.

She throws a wink in his direction and drops the next. And the next. And the next.

Five in, three to go. Compared to his shit break, leaving him eight and oh.

John rolls his eyes and starts to line up a shot. He taps the ball forward and it knocks into a couple but only a striped ball falls in.

“Thanks.” Says Helen, “But I could have gotten that one on my own.”

He sends a mocking glare in her direction.

“Christ, Wick. Anyone ever tell you that you fucking suck at pool? My twelve-year-old sister could beat you.”

John looks up. “Gonzalez. Haven’t seen you in New York before.”

Helen shoots, knocking the ball in a better position but not sinking it.

“I try not to see New York at all, but business is business. Especially now that Padron, may he rest in peace, is no longer here to facilitate our needs. I heard you may have had something to do with that.”

John scans the bar yet again. Viggo has noticed Gonzalez, along with a few of his cartel lackeys. He raises an eyebrow at John who returns his attention to the game. Helen is watching carefully, her chin resting on the end of her pool stick.

“A lot of people had something to do with that.”

“I’m aware. And believe me, they’ll get what’s coming to them. But right now I’m asking about you.”

John takes a shot and the ball slams into one of his, finally sinking. 

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t involved.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t have to.” John sinks another ball, “But it’s the truth.”

He lines up and misses the next one.

“Good effort.” Helen says, patting him on the back as she steps in. She easily sinks one. “Corner pocket.” She tells him before she even begins to line up.

“Christ, Wick. I came here to kill you and now I just feel bad.” Gonzalez said. “Do you want to finish your game or can I end your misery now?”

The man to Gonzalez’s left had his hand on his gun.

“Do you have a problem?” She says, turning around and looking at Gonzalez. “I’m trying to take all the money this man has and, honestly, you’re being a little distracting.”

“Helen…” John starts to cut off.

“No, seriously.” She says stepping forward. “Because, honestly, this is getting to be a little too much and I’m not here for it. He said he wasn’t involved. So unless you’re here to get a drink or you want to get in line so that I can empty your wallet too, I suggest you leave.”

One of the lackeys looks to Gonzalez “Esta perra nos esta hablando?” Is this bitch talking to us?

John opens his mouth, ready to intervene and diffuse the situation before it got out of hand but Helen steps past him.

“Si, puta.” Yes, whore. He winces as the perfect Spanish pours from her lips, “Esta perra te esta hablando.” This bitch is talking to you.

The man reaches for his gun but before he can grasp it, Helen’s fist has shot out and there is an audible crack followed by a loud groan. She smacks his hand away from his gun and punches him again, square in the jaw.

Gonzalez moves to strike but before he can, Helen drops low and swipes his legs out with a quick kick. He hits the floor and before John can process anything, the entire room has erupted. The assassins, who had been watching from the sidelines, were not people who stood idly by.

John grabs the edge of the pencil and pulls it through Helen’s bun, spinning it in his hand so that the sharp end is facing out. 

Gonzalez’s second lackey goes for his gun as Helen kicks their leader in the nuts. John surges forward, stabbing the pencil into the temple and yanking it out, only to let the man slip to the floor with a soft thud. 

Confusion has broken out. Another one of Gonzalez’s men makes a move to grab Helen. John cuts him off, stepping in front of him as Helen punches an assassin from the bar who made the mistake of trying to get in her way. 

John holds the pencil upright against the pool table and brings the man’s head down on it, letting it crack his skull and pierce his brain simultaneously. He turned the man over, yanking the pencil out with one hand and grabbing a pool cue in the other. He launches it across the room, smacking the hand of an assassin reaching for a gun.

Come one, they all knew better than to bring guns into it this close to the public.

A gunshot would only bring the real policeman and no one wanted that bureaucratic mess. 

Helen seems to be handling herself rather well for a woman who presented so soft.

She grabbed a pool stick off the ground and broke it over her knee. She used the ends to repeatedly smack Gonzalez in the head now that he was back on his feet.

John swore aloud, quickly inserting himself between Helen and Gonzalez. He gave her a little unsuspecting nudge towards another, less important a game piece in the grand scheme of their world.

She continued to smack her new target with the ends of the pool stick.

“Shouldn’t have come here, Gonzalez.” John says, dodging a punch that the man throws his way. “Should know better than to pull this shit here.”

“I didn’t start it,” Gonzalez snarls, nodding his head at Helen. “Nice bitch. Is she yours?”

John decks him hard in the side of the head and Gonzalez stumbles back. “Not yet.” He says, kicking him so that he crashed into the wall behind him. “But she’s going to be.” 

John brings the pencil back up, stabbing it hard into Gonzalez’ eye and as deep as it would go.

He leaves it, letting another body hit the ground, spinning back to see the scene that unfolded.

A few assassins had joined the fight, unsure what else to do but the cartel had been taking care of. What was left was idle bullshit.

Everyone else was just sitting at their tables or the bar, watching without much care. 

Viggo raised his drink to him and John resisted the urge to shake his head. Instead, he approached Viggo’s lieutenant, still sipping at his own drink.

“Give me the money.” John says.

“You guys didn’t finish.”

John blinks, “I stabbed a man on the table. Pretty sure the game is over. She would’ve won anyway.”

The Lieutenant shrugs, “Make sure she gets her money.”

John rolls his eyes as if there was any other possibility, and walks back over to where Helen is lashing out right and left.

She knocks a man to the ground and John grabs her wrist. She spins around to attack him with her other hand but John catches that wrist, too. Helen blinks up at him in surprise and he uses the moment to release her and catch her low along her waist. Easily, he hikes her up into the air and tosses her over his shoulder and walks out the bar, ignoring the carnage that had been left in their wake.

“What’re you doing?” She shouts to him as the door closes behind him, “I wasn’t fucking finished.”

“You are.” John says and sets her down in the parking lot. “Trust me, you kicked more than enough ass in there.”

Her nostrils flair. “I don’t like bullies.”

“And by the way most of them are on the ground, bleeding, I’m guessing they don’t like you.”

He hands her the cash and she shakes her head, taking it and immediately handing back half. “I didn’t win the last game.”

“You were going to.”

“Maybe. But it’s not over till it's over.”

“Pretty sure it’s over in there.” John gives her a soft smile, “Don’t think I’ve ever had anyone stand up for me like that.”

She shrugs a shoulder. “I didn’t like the way he was talking to you.” Helen takes a step closer, narrowing her eyes, “You hurt at all?”

John shakes his head, “No.”

Helen hums. “You need a ride home?” He opens his mouth to politely decline but she has already turned on her heal, “What’s your address?”

“I’m staying at the Continental Hotel.” He recites the address quietly and follows her over to a slick and trim Kawasaki Ninja. “This is yours?” John asks. 

She grins at him. “Don’t have a helmet with me that will fit you but I promise to drive the speed limit.”

Somehow he doubted that but he smiled, nonetheless.

“Are you sure?”

“That hotel of yours got a bar?”

“It does.”

She takes a finger and playfully pokes him in the chest. “I believe you owe me a drink.”

“You might be right.”

“I’m positive.” Helen tells him, “And I intend to collect upon that.”

She mounts the bike and takes it off the kickstand. With a nod of her head, he climbs on behind her.

“Hold tight.” She tells him.

John tries not to smile at the irony. Once he held on, he might never let go.

...

To be continued???