"Two pair," he said and flipped the cards over one by one.

"Full House," she said and fanned them out before him with a little grin.

"You are getting better at this," he said and leaned forward to touch her hand.

She sat back, taking her hand with her and smoothed out her dress. It was a modest number with an Audrey Hepburn look to it. Yellow though, not black, and her hair was swept up in an updo. Like Audrey, she looked classy. In the old days it was low-cut dresses and hair fashioned in buns. But this was now. She was ringing in a new generation.

"I found I am improving at lots of things lately," she said with a chuckle and gestured behind her.

The door that was there opened and the man blinked. "How did you...."

"Boss, we got trouble," said the newcomer excitedly.

"Excuse me, Tara," the man said and got up to investigate the disturbance.

"Surely," she replied and lit a cigarette. Spinning the chair around she was able to look out the door's opening into the pool hall and sports bar.

Two men were exchanging punches and each had a respectable following of friends cheering them on. She imagined what they would look like holding pom-poms and she smiled. The pool hall owner, the man she had just bested in cards, was trying unsuccessfully to break the fight up along with his employees who were no better at damage control than he was.

Chairs were broken.

Glass bottles flew.

Lips were split.

The pool hall owner cried out for the bartender to call the cops. She got up out of the chair she was in and sauntered out into the madness, smoothly avoiding thrown punches and objects as more patrons got into the fight. It was a good old fashioned down home brawl. She could feel the energy all around her and for a moment she felt high with it. For a moment she wanted to show her own skill with her fist but it was fleeting and she composed herself as she approached the two men who had instigated the mess.

"Eventide," she whispered despite the fact that it was so loud as to wake the dead in the place. The jukebox alone was enough to make you want to put a bullet in your skull. It was on the highest volume and was pumping out one heavy metal song after another. Both men stopped beating on each other and exchanged confused glances. They had heard her. All the patrons had. Even the dummy reading the book in the corner who had earphones in his ears, filling his head with unintelligible music which likely made little sense and was made by dummies like him, albeit more wealthy because people paid to hear them scream in a microphone on a stage somewhere. She wondered why he bothered bringing his own music when the jukebox was playing the same sort of thing, only there was a wider selection to choose from. Miraculously he had escaped injury in the pandemonium that was swiftly dying down now. She made a motion like she was tipping her hat to him though she wore no hat and he looked nervously at her, taking his earphones out and placing them down on his table, almost as if her motion was a silent command for him to do so.

She looked to the guy on the right first. "Your wife is home, dying, and you come here to pick a fight with someone? Why is that?"

The guy was stunned and from the look on his face she knew her interpretation of his thoughts was correct. He went to say something, likely in defense of himself, but her hand was already pressed to his mouth.

She smiled and shook her head. "There is no excuse for you. You're an idiot. Get yer priorities in order an' go take care of yer wife. She gave you three beautiful kids. It's the least you can do seeing as she won't live to see the dawn."

He ran then, shoving patrons out of his way and burst through the door. She thought she could hear him screaming about devils but her attention was by now turned to the guy on the left. Another smile.

"Hello," she said.

"Hi," he said nervously.

"This music is enough to make one nuts, eh?" she said and gesturing to the jukebox, caused it be silent. "Sit down," she said and nodded to a chair. It slid across the floor until it hit into his knees and he sat down roughly in it. Too terrified to speak, she touched his lips too. He drew a breath and stared at her wide-eyed.

"This is my kind of music," she whispered into his ear and flashed a look to the jukebox. It whirred to life and started to play "Black is the color of my true love's hair" by Nina Simone.

Her eyes closed in pleasure as the piano intro started to play and she straddled the guy's lap, her yellow dress riding up along her hips. Nina's declaration of love rang out into the pool hall and the patrons did not know where to look first. To her or the jukebox. She won out in the end. It was the dress. It had to be.

She leaned forward to press her forehead against his and sighed.

"One does not always need to solve problems with their hands," she said and stroked his black hair, imagining if he was the type of guy who had inspired Nina. He was young, in his early twenties, had a clean face but his eyes were bloodshot.

He watched her silently although his mouth was moving. She could see the words just waiting to be born there but they never were.

"It is almost as if the art of outwitting one's opponent has died an' has been replaced with an abundance of bravado and hubris. I am unimpressed with it an' perhaps I am jus' old-fashioned but where I come from, you need to be clever to survive. All the strength in the world won't break through steel chains," she said with a grin, thinking of the Halls.

Gary stepped forward.

She pulled back and looked to him, as if in warning.

He smiled. "I could use you around here more often, Tara. That was brilliant! How did you do it?!" he cried passionately.

"As I said, you do not always have to use your hands, Gary. Sometimes a little suggestion goes a long way in diffusing what could potentially become a serious situation. I am paid well by my employer to use this skill of mine almost all the time. Though, lately, we have some who think they are more experienced than I in our midst an' who will one day soon regret testing me. But, that is the beauty of lessons learned," she said and pressed a kiss to the man's temple, "they're so much more profound when experienced personally rather than hearing about them secondhand."

"Whatever he's paying you, I'll double it!" he said with a grin and she could see him working over the new arrangement in his mind, calling on her to stop fights and knock sense into the rough and tumble types. She was the Cockroach Killa, no bouncer.

She shook her head. "You cannot afford me," she said and stood, leaving the guy with black hair to stare numbly out in front of him.

"I'll triple it!" he called after her.

She sauntered to the door and lifted a hand behind her. "Nay, Gary, only one man will I work for an' while we enjoy playing cards with one another each week, I do not think you could handle me all the time nor could you give me what I need. Only my employer can. He's taught me well."

"Same time next week then?" he asked, hopeful.

"Aye, so long as we don't get any new heroes who need redirecting," she said and disappeared out the door.

The bartender nudged Gary's shoulder and nodded after her. "Who was that girl?"

"Tara Rynieyn," Gary said proudly.

The jukebox switched from Nina's soulful voice to The Animals' rendition of "House of the Rising Sun."

All eyes turned to it including the black-haired fellow slumped in the chair. He grinned lazily.