This is only the beginning of a story:

I stepped into the dingy little bar, looking around. Dirty sunlight filtered in through the half open door I’d just come through, throwing half shadows between the full ones. A fat man stood behind the counter, slowly cleaning out a glass. He looked up when I came in, an indifferent look on his face.

“We’re closed,” he said, his voice half flat and half rumbling. He was sweating slightly, and his face was dirty and streaked with dust.

“I’m looking for someone,” I said, striding up to the bar never the less. “I was wondering if you could help me.”

“We’re closed,” he repeated, rotating an old rag in the glass.

I sighed and put a hand in my pocket, extracting a few dollars and throwing them on the counter.

The barman stood up straight, put down the glass and the rag and pulled the cash toward him. “How may I help you sir?”

“As I said,” I began again, “I’m looking for a man. He’s name is Jonathan Dawson.”

The barman nodded, a sneer crossing his face. “Yeah I know Dawson, comes in here every night, then leaves just before closing time.”

“Do you mind telling me what Mr. Dawson does while he’s here?” I asked, taking a seat in front of the man.

“He sits in the corner of the bar every night, shuffling cards,” the barman explained, nodding to a table in the shady corner of the bar. “Ye know he wears a hat? A big Stetson one that keeps his eyes in the dark? But just coz’ you can’t see them, don’t mean they can’t see you. Man you feel them eyes go over ye.

“They rove over the customers,” he said, lifting his arms and wriggling his fingers, “Seeking out a specific face. One day that face will appear in my bar, and he will find the person he’s looking for.

“God forbid he’ll find him, and he’ll kill him.”

“Do you know this person he’s waiting for?” I asked, interested.

The barman shrugged and picked up the glass and rag again, “Who does. It’s just a story I heard from some of the other customers. He’s good business though. Knocks back a couple while he’s here.”

I sat back and thought about this. “I thank you for your help sir,” I said standing up and walking back to the door.

“My pleasure,” he said, and I could here the wrinkle of the dollars as he patted them in his pocket.