When he exited the bar, he began to hurry down the street. He was stronger than he looked, though he wasn’t much bigger than Ian. The smaller man’s eyes widened as Hans picked up speed, still moving at something passing for walking pace. He moved quickly into an alley, and dropped Ian’s body against the wall.

“So,” Hans began, “Got too much drink in you tonight, did you, Ian?” He allowed his already-present smile to expand over his face, dismissing any assumption of sanity. “Did anyone ever tell you you shouldn’t trust strangers?” Ian fumbled in his jacket, his movement slow. “Looking for this?” Hans held up a Derringer, the most womanly of pistols, and pocketed it again. “It’s a shame you wandered away from me. I really needed to make that phone call.” His smile shifted into a sneer as Ian shuddered, closed his eyes, “I told you stay right there, but you didn’t listen.”

Ian curled tight against the wall, “You just wouldn’t listen, Ian, and that’s why you broke your neck.” With that, he grabbed and twisted.