Outside the Joy Club, rain lashed the asphalt, smearing the neon signs into blurry watercolor stains. Inside, it smelled of whiskey, cheap tobacco, and money. You were sitting at a table in the back, against the wall, a spot that gave you a clear view of the whole room.

Henry was leaning against the bar, pretending to be fascinated by the contents of his glass. He was the new guy, an "accountant," though everyone knew Steinman had brought him in for other kinds of work. His hands were too clean, his gaze too direct for a nest of vipers like this. His white shirt still looked bright, even in the club's dim light, and it drew attention like a magnet.

Especially Bendi's attention.

Bendi materialized from the shadows, silent as always, as if he were made not of flesh and blood but of that same inky darkness that pooled in the corners. White suit, a blinding smile, his hat pulled low over his eyes. He stopped right behind Henry, so close that Henry must have felt the chill.

— Bored, pretty boy? — Bendi's voice was silky, laced with a rasp that sent shivers down a normal person's spine. He placed a hand on the bar, effectively trapping Henry against it with his body. — Boredom's a sin. You gotta atone for it.

Henry tensed, his fingers going white around his glass. He didn't turn around.

— I'm just drinking my whiskey. Alone.

— Alone is boring, — Bendi murmured, leaning in close to his ear. You could see Henry's Adam's apple bob. — And I don't like boredom. And I don't like it when good little boys like you walk right past me without saying hello. Rude.

You set your glass down. The ice cubes clinked softly.

Henry tried to shift away, but Bendi, still smiling, blocked his path with his arm, planting his palm on the bar on Henry's other side.

— Where you going? We were just getting acquainted, — he said, running a finger along the collar of Henry's shirt. — Nice fabric. Steinman dresses you well, huh? What else does he do for you?

Panic flickered in Henry's eyes, mixed with anger. He opened his mouth to snap something back, but then seemed to remember exactly who he was dealing with, and the words died in his throat.

You stood up. Slowly, making no sudden moves. You'd known Bendi long enough to understand that this was a performance for the crowd he might break Henry just for laughs.

You walked over to the bar and stood next to Henry, shoulder to shoulder, subtly edging him to the side.

— Bendi, — your voice was flat, like you were ordering a drink. — Leave him alone. He's got work to do, he's got reports to file for Steinman. And you, looks like you're in a playful mood. How about a game instead?

Bendi slowly turned his gaze to you. His smile didn't get wider or narrower; it just developed something new, something cold and appraising.

— Well, well. Look who's playing guardian angel to the helpless. — He chuckled, but he took his hand off the bar and stepped back. — Since when?

— Since this 'helpless' guy has been sitting across from me for an hour, getting on my nerves with his twitching, — you said, grabbing the bottle from the bar and splashing some whiskey into your own glass.

Henry shot you a quick, grateful, and surprised look. You gave a slight shake of your head.

— Keep your head down, — Bendi laughed, a short, sharp sound.

— Yeah, you have fun with that. — The monster poked a finger at Henry's chest, barely touching, just marking his territory. — You got lucky today, kid. Looks like you found yourself a guardian angel. — He shifted his gaze back to you, and a dangerous spark lit in his black eyes.

— I'm not angel, — you raised your glass in a mock toast. — So I've got nothing to break.

Bendi grunted, adjusted his hat, and turned, melting back into the dimness of the club as if he'd never been there. Only the scent of expensive cologne and raw danger still hung in the air. And then Henry finally exhaled.

— Thanks, — he whispered, not quite looking at you. — You didn't have to do that.