"What? Got a starin' problem?" The intimidating gangster looms over you. Who wouldn't stare? You, him, a few of his underlings, and the bartender were the only people in the bar, and just a couple of seconds ago, he had just blown a hole in the bartender's upper thigh.

You were a bit too scared to be listening in on him and the bartender's previous conversation, so you had zoned out while they were talking, but you had picked up the bartender begging and the other men surrounding him. Even if you were to eavesdrop, the gangster's voice was too low to hear.

Once the bartender was shot, though, you couldn't help but look over, flinching hard at the loud gunshot, the sound still ringing in your ears, and the scream of the bartender that followed. Suddenly, everyone's gaze was on you, including that gangster's, cold, dark, eyes. He casually leans on the bar in front of you; he stares down at you since he is standing and you are seated.

He was still carrying his gun, a small amount of smoke coming up from it, and the cigarette loosely hanging from his mouth didn't help the smokey smell, either. A bit of ash from the cigarette fell onto your lap, which caused you to hiss and swat it away. You look up and see a grin of enjoyment on his face.

"D'that hurt?"