"How much does he want?" John asked.
Frank looked at him suspiciously.
"Why?"
"Just asking."
"More than I can afford right now."
John didn't press further.
He had no money of his own, no identification he trusted, and no idea how the financial systems of this world worked beyond what he'd learned from listening to customers. Even if he wanted to help, he wasn't in a position to do much.
Besides, he had no intention of becoming involved in another criminal organization.
He had spent enough of his life dealing with men like Russo.
Frank leaned back in his chair.
"I appreciate what you did back there. I do. But you need to understand something. These aren't the kind of people who get embarrassed and move on. Russo won't forget what happened tonight."
"Then I'll deal with it if he comes back."
"That's exactly what worries me."
John looked at him and frank sighed.
"You don't know this neighborhood yet. Russo has people everywhere. A few bartenders, some delivery drivers, a couple of guys who work security. He knows which businesses are struggling, which landlords are behind on their payments, and who owes money to whom. You don't get that kind of influence by being a nice guy."
"I never said he was."
"Good, because he isn't."
Frank stood and returned to the counter.
For a while, neither man spoke.
John watched the customers gradually return to their conversations. The television was still playing a news report about Stark Industries, and someone had already started arguing about whether Iron Man should be allowed to operate without government oversight.
Normal life was resuming almost immediately.
It was strange how quickly people could move on after witnessing violence.
Then again, John supposed that was true everywhere.
He had seen people return to their meals minutes after gunfire stopped. He had watched hotel staff clean blood from expensive floors while guests complained about the noise. The world had a way of continuing, regardless of what happened in the middle of it.
By the time the bar closed, the floor had been cleaned, the broken glass had been swept away, and the furniture had been put back in place.
John was carrying the last box of empty bottles toward the storage room when Frank called out to him.
"John."
He stopped and turned.
Frank stood behind the counter with his arms folded.
"Tomorrow, I want you to take the day off."
"Why?"
"Because you're still recovering, and I can't trust you to spend a single evening without getting into a fight."
"They were the ones who—"
"I know." Frank raised a hand. "I'm not blaming you. But if Russo sends more people here, I'd rather you weren't standing behind my counter when it happens."
John set the box down.
"Are you asking me to leave?"
Frank looked genuinely offended.
"No. I'm asking you to rest. There's a difference."
He reached beneath the counter, pulled out a folded stack of bills, and placed them beside the register.
"Your pay for the week. You earned it."
John looked at the money.
"You don't have to pay me for the day off."
"I'm not paying you for tomorrow. I'm paying you for the work you've already done. Take it."
John accepted the money.
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet. If you come back tomorrow morning and start jogging around the neighborhood with those busted ribs again, I'm going to throw you out myself."
John slipped the bills into his pocket.
"I'll try to control myself."
"That's all I ask."
Frank turned off the lights behind the bar while John gathered his jacket. Duke followed them upstairs, stopping occasionally to sniff the corners of the stairwell.
The little room Frank had given John was still cramped, with a mattress on the floor, a small dresser, and barely enough space to turn around without bumping into something. However, it was warm, and the lock on the door worked.
For the time being, that was all John needed.
He sat on the edge of the mattress and watched Duke settle into his blanket.
His ribs were aching again, reminding him that he had probably pushed himself too far during the fight. He would need to be more careful until he had fully recovered.
John leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
He had wanted a quiet life.
He had found a job, a place to sleep, and a dog that followed him everywhere. For almost a week, things had been going well.
Then three men had walked into a bar and reminded him that even in a world full of superheroes, ordinary criminals were still capable of making life difficult.
John opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.
He wasn't going to chase after Russo. He wasn't going to investigate the man's organization, and he certainly wasn't going to start building a reputation in a city where he was supposed to be nobody.
If Russo left Frank alone, John would leave Russo alone.
That was a reasonable arrangement.
Unfortunately, John had a feeling that Russo wouldn't be satisfied with it.
Duke climbed onto the mattress and curled up beside him.
John scratched the puppy's head before reaching for the small lamp beside the bed.
"Let's hope tomorrow is quieter."
He switched off the light.
Outside, New York continued to buzz with activity. Somewhere downtown, Iron Man was probably flying around, dealing with another problem that could destroy half a city if left unchecked.
John had no intention of joining him.
For now, he was perfectly content to let the superheroes handle the world's biggest problems.
He had enough trouble dealing with the smallest ones.