#yes.. yes

the bartender... stayed late... saw everything. crouched by the bar maybe, then having fallen on his elbows hearing the horrible noise of a body hitting the ground... saw everything, and seen now. andrey walks to him, sinuous and slow, foot in front of the other, tightrope-walker, navaja in hand. crouches in front of him, folds the blade. speaketh then slow sibilant almost sweet, why are you here? you should go home. i'll clean the place before you're back, you shouldn't be there, you shouldn't stay here. the bartender sees him in the half-light face obscured with tacky blood. swallows thickly, crawls to his heels, on his feet, dashes. dashes, yes — the image is clear in his mind. the image... haunting. yes, haunting.