Nkunzi, the other barmen came over and threatened to call for security.
“Fuck you!” Rashid screamed at him.
Owethu came over from the backroom, dressed in a light blue shiny suit you’d have no choice but to look at him, and nobody needed to be told that he owns the place. Overweight, short black curly hair, fingers and ears bling with gold. The man smelt of wealth, never walked alone, always with two guards at his side it’s like they were a part of him.
Before he could open his mouth to ask what happened, his face inquired first. What is all this bickering all about? In front of the customers.
The two barmen spoke at the same time, each saying the different things: “we’ll get him out, sir.” “We apologise for all the noise.” The scraggy barman looked awake now. Each of their hands rushed to wrap around Rashid’s arms.
They dragged him out of his seat, the empty bottle he had been wallowing on slipped from the bar and fell. The shatter was met with a tiny gasp from the watchers.
Now Rashid was shaking, groaning and cussing, alcohol and spit drooped from his moving mouth.
“Get this trash out if here, come on,” Owethu snarled. The barmen tried to hurry but it was late. Another gasp from the people. In the moment of silence and stillness from everyone Owethu, so calm and slow, pulled out a silk black cloth and wiped off Rashid’s spit from his face. He didn’t say a word. He just smiled at Rashid then immediately smiled frowned again. He raised a hand to near his ear, the punches on Rashid’s tummy began. Both of the guards took turns with their fists. The two barman relieved Rashid from their hold he nearly went face first to the floor, his hands caught balance.
The bar attendants made little inaudible sounds of protest, a shuffle of chairs as some for up to leave.
Tell us: do you think Rashid deserved that beating?