Sue asked for a little more of what I am working on. These, by the way, are just a random few paragraphs. Not from the beginning or the end. And they don't go together so don't read this one as a continuation of the last one.
Berger takes a bite of his sandwich then mumbles with a full mouth, “And what did you do before you got started fighting?”
“I was a soldier, then a cop.” I look for the woman who took our order and ask her to bring us two beers. “These are on me,” I tell Berger. He nods his thanks then asks more questions.
“That where you learned to fight? The military?”
“That’s where they taught me how to throw a proper punch. Nobody teaches you how to fight. You just know how to do that. Born with it.”
The redhead sits two label-less brown bottles on the table. They are a home brew and I take a long drink. It’s bitter and I shut my eyes tight as I swallow, fighting to get it down.
“So, a soldier, huh?” I say to Berger and reach down to my boot and pull a pistol that’s been holstered to my ankle and put it on the table. “I guess you know how to use one of these.”
Berger smiles and says, “Yes, I’ve used a gun before.”
“How long ago did you last shoot?”
“Basic training.” He puts what’s left of his sandwich in his mouth and washes it down with a swallow of the home brew. “I worked the kitchen, and let me tell you, I make better sandwiches than these things. Better beer, too.” He slides his empty plate to the middle of the table and pulls his napkin from his lap.