This was the life.

A lazy breeze washed through the old bar, curling around the handful of patrons that had settled in for a long and lazy afternoon. It was bright in the bar, much to the dismay of most of them. Almost all of them were drunk, and there were a few that had already slipped out of consciousness. It was called the One Winged Parrot, though most patrons simply called it the bar. There were a few on the island, but the others were all gimmicky and made pretty for the tourists. Not this one. No, this one was exactly what these old expats were looking for. It was dirty, cheap, and except for the occasional rowdy Saturday night, it was quiet.

One man in particular was quite appreciative of the quiet. Michael R. Reed had had a long life in his opinion, and this remote bar on an even more remote island was exactly what he believed he deserved in the sense of retirement. The man was roughly 53. He wasn’t counting anymore, so he would usually just give his best guess when people asked. Not that many people did these days. Add that to the list of things he loved about this island.

Michael let himself into the old bar, just as the waitress went storming out. The young woman was about the only one who brought any life to the worn down place, and Michael liked whenever she had a moment to talk to him. She had the usual dreams. She wanted to move to somewhere bigger, somewhere away from her family. He gave her someone to talk to and she gave him ice cold beers that were occasionally on the house.

He watched as she stormed her way back up the path towards the town, but made no move to stop her. Instead he did quite the opposite. Michael ducked into the old bar and siddled on up to the bartender.

“Who pissed her off this time?” He asked as he slid over a soft and faded bill to the younger man.

The bartender owned the bar, and he was a man who went simply by Don. He was quiet for a bartender, but with the clientele he catered to, Michael figured it lent well. The men here wanted to drink their problems away, not sob about them over a beer. Don didn’t talk about anything other than how much of a pain it was to run a business and how he was such a saint for employing the one waitress who kept his place running for him. Once, when Michael had been so adventurous as to ask Don about himself, the man had shot him a glare so fierce it surely would have killed a lesser man.

“Do you have to ask? What doesn’t piss her off these days? She’s a loose cannon. She’s crazy, always has been. You know, I don’t know why I still keep her around. She’s not worth the trouble.” Don shook his head as he spoke, all the while happily taking Michael’s money and handing over a beer in return. It was an import, something pricey just to get to the tiny island, but the men who liked this bar were willing to pay all the extra for something that reminded them of home.

“She’s a good kid. You oughta cut her a little slack. The guys here like seeing her.”

“They’d like seeing any pretty girl in here. I could get another one. One that doesn't talk back. Bet they’d like that even more. Girls like that are a dime a dozen around here. The people here like em like that.”

Michael nodded, a soft hum slipping past his lips as he sipped at his beer. Not for the first time since he’d arrived to this little island, Michael was very aware that Don did not belong here. He did blend in fairly well with the locals. They invited him to the big festivals and important holidays. He certainly had ingratiated himself with islanders, but Michael knew better.

As he sat down at the bar, the worn and battered phone in his back pocket decided to make itself known. It rang a short chime, much to the displeasure of several bar goers. A few of them turned towards Michael, but a well placed sneer had them all turning right back around. This crowd wasn’t much for technology, but like with a growing list of things, Michael was not quite like the men around him.

Don raised an eyebrow as Michael pulled out his phone. A brief message flashed on his screen, asking if they could finish the job yet. Michael could only groan and quickly shove the phone back into his pocket.

“What was that?” Don asked, giving a pointed glance towards Michael. “You know the guys around here get a little jumpy with tech like that.”

“Yeah, sorry. Work. You know how that goes.”

That only received a slightly more perplexed look from Don. “I thought you said you were retired.”

“You know, I thought I told them too. You’d think they’d get the hint by now. I’m in the damn Bahamas after all. It doesn’t exactly convey itself to getting a lot of work done.”

Don nodded for a moment, his eyes lingering on Michael a little too long. “What’d you say you do for work?”

Michael finally looked up at the bartender, a tired look on his face. “I worked for a private business. Wasn’t very important. I was mostly just in charge of busy work, if I’m honest.”

The man across the bar didn’t seem convinced. “What exactly did you do?” His voice was a little more firm this time.

Michael struggled for an answer for what seemed like an eternity. How could he respond? That he was an agent for a company that really wasn’t supposed to exist? That he was responsible for going around finding men exactly like Don and making sure they got what they deserved?

Luckily for Michael, his savior came in the form of the very pissed off waitress. She slammed the door open and stormed right past the drunks asleep at their tables, coming right up to the bar.

“I want my final check! I quit. I’ve had enough of your shit. I’m getting out of here!” She demanded, slamming her wadded up apron on the bar.

The look on Don’s face was nothing short of deadly. The man was furious. He leaned right over the bar, getting in the girl’s face. “You don’t make the rules here, niñita. Go and cool down, and maybe I won’t make you turn in all your tips this week.”

Michael knew what was coming before he could even try to stop it, though he knew he should. In a flash of anger, the young woman reached across the few inches between her and Don and slapped him square in the face. He was still for only a second before he responded in kind. Don swung like his life depended on it, knocking the girl to the floor. Michael watched it in slow motion, her silky dark hair flowing around her as she reeled from the attack. In that moment, Michael knew what he had to do.

“You had it fucking coming to you!” Don said, spitting over the bar towards the girl. He grabbed himself a beer and cracked it open. “Get the hell out of my bar.”

Michael was quick to step in. He helped the fallen waitress up, holding his cold beer against her cheek to try and help with the pain. The two walked out of the bar, the immense quiet following behind them.

When they got to the beach, the young waitress pulled away. Michael took his beer back, but didn’t make any effort to leave. Her cheek was already starting to discolor, and her lip was slowly dripping blood down her chin.

“I’ll kick his fucking ass.” She hissed out, tears streaking down her cheeks.

Michael shot a look of disbelief at her. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Well what the hell should I do?”

He took a moment to go over his options. He fished out his phone once more and sent a quick response to his retainer. They would get what they wanted, and he would just have to quit playing like he was retired.

He sighed and took another sip of his beer. “You’re gonna lay low for a week, and when everything dies down, you’re going to come back and take ownership of the bar.”

The girl barked out a laugh and shook her head. “How the hell is that going to happen? If I step foot in there, he’ll do the same fucking thing.”

“His name is Donald Richardson. He’s a fugitive. He’s going to go away.”

A look of confusion crossed her face for a moment, and for a while she didn’t say anything. When she did speak, it wasn’t exactly what he expected. “What the hell am I going to do with a shitty bar?”

Michael tilted his head curiously for a moment before chuckling and smiling. He shrugged in response and turned away from her. “Sell it? Run it? Hell, burn it to the ground for all I care.”

He only waited until he heard her walking back up the path to finally take his last moment of relaxation. With a simple snap of his fingers, everything slowed to a halt. The wind in the trees stood still, the waves on the beach stilled where they crashed, seafoam still dripping off. The little droplets hung there in midair, and they weren’t going to fall any time soon. He glanced back once to make sure that the girl was under the shade. It wouldn’t do if she managed to get sunburned during his last precious moment playing retired.

Michael slowly made his way down the beach and laid himself out in the sand. It was warm and soft, and if the little bits didn’t cling to his beard or hair, he would have liked to sleep out there. He shut his eyes and relaxed, his toes in the still water. The crew were on their way, and sure they would be pissed off that he had taken his sweet time, but it was his vacation, not theirs, that they were ruining. He took a deep breath and smiled, the sun beating down on his skin. This was the life.