Xi spotted Jamal almost immediately before the big man caught sight of Paige and himself. He watched as the tall figure strode into the bar and stopped at the counter. “Six o’clock,” He said calmly taking a sip from the green bottle in front of him. The man had a dejected look about him, not to mention he was apparently flying solo. Xi continued to look around. There was no sign of any of the others he’d seen outside
and they weren’t hard to spot either. He reckoned this was some sort of break-time from the assholery they were spreading out on the street earlier. More than a few people he’d spoken with told him about imposing figures in ill-tailored suits dishing out verbal threats and bearing their fangs at any who approached them. The common thread in each story: A sewn on patch in the shape of a red cross. As a beer was delivered the man glanced back and finally saw the two Marshals. Xi did not meet his gaze, but he knew the man saw them. “He’s alone.” He said to Paige.
“What’s he look like?” Paige asked. The bar he was out of her field of view. She didn’t turn or show any change in her expression.
“Over six foot,” Xi said, “Like Bob Marley on steroids.”
“Sounds about right” She replied.
A waiter came by to check on them and she signaled for him to come closer. Paige very casually drew her jacket back slowly allowing him to see her star and sidearm. She spoke calmly and directly: “I just need you to remain calm for me… and in a discreet way, remove as many people from this area as possible.” The young man looked confused at first, but nodded in affirmation.
As the party goers were dispersed, both Marshals got up from the table using the seemingly natural movement of the crowd to partially obscure the view of anyone else who might be watching. Xi took up a position against a far wall, putting him within easy range of Paige and giving him a full view of anyone else that decided to interfere. With the wait staff removing the regular residents of Sol City, anyone that still approached would be considered a bogey.
As she approached the bar, Paige considered the last time she was in a similar situation. Though she didn’t really expect any action out of this lone thug, the setting reminded of her of a time she’d encountered, “el Tractor” or
the Tractor a well-known Columbian hitman, in a small diner on the southern outskirts of Delta City. She didn’t have any backup on that occasion. The Marshal Service was on the trail of a survivor from a separate hit that occurred the day before in hopes they could extract information. The target sought refuge in the diner hoping the public setting would provide some protection. Paige arrived just before the Columbian and had attempted to disperse the diner staff in the same way, though the Tractor knew the game and immediately placed the waitress Paige warned in a booth to sit quietly. She heard stories of the man, that he used a combine to rundown some rogue, Columbian sugar-plantation magnate that refused to pay the ruling Cartel, thus earning his name, and that by all accounts, he was an all-around bloodthirsty badass to boot. She’d stood her ground though and the when he somehow decided to back down, she could only believe that luck was on her side that day. She knew she had a fast pull, one of the fastest, but against him, she wasn’t sure. However, the tales of the mouthy female marshal with a laser beam stare grew exponentially.
Paige sat at the bar three stools down from Jamal with her empty glass and motioned to the bartender, who looked scared shitless, for a second on her tab. She didn't look at him when she spoke and merely glanced ahead watching her drink being made, “Long night, huh soldier?”
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