John watched in awe as a middle aged, giant of a man- a Russian he would later be told- burst through the door, grabbed two smaller, younger men and left with their heads firmly locked under his arms. On his way out, the Russians cold, blue eyes met Johns, sending a shiver down his spine threatening to release his alcohol filled bladder. It was the sort of stare that John imagined the mafia would use to say ‘You didn’t see nothin’’ or ‘You saw something so you’re next’. No, that was ridiculous. The small pub was full of people who had witnessed this- kidnapping? - No, he couldn’t be sure what had just occurred. However, this bar was full of people who had witnessed it. People who oddly hadn’t even looked up from their tables when the two young men had been dragged out kicking and screaming for help.- Had they been screaming for help?- Again he couldn’t be sure. Both men were speaking some foreign language- a language that John would again be told was Russian- he corrected himself. The men may have all been friends just playing around, he wasn’t sure if the two men had looked scared or not. But that stare. That wasn’t the stare of a playful man.
   In his dark corner booth, John went back to drinking and tried to forget about the Russian and the thought of him coming back to get him. He couldn’t. John waited for a large group of men to get up and left with them.