Once back inside the bar, heads turned to face him. Most of them looked concerned, and some looked shocked to see him back so soon. Most of the usuals in the bar liked to joke about Francois and his efforts to get laid, but they did it out of mad respect.

They all loved him despite his obvious shortcomings. He had after all served in the war, so he deserved all the respect this town could muster. Not to mention, most of the regulars at the bar just assumed that his shortcomings were due to the traumas that war gave him.

Francois walked up to the bartender, still partially drunk. “Hey, Robert, I’m ready to pay my tab.”

“What happened to that vixen you picked up?” Robert asked.

Robert was used to watching Francois hit on all his clients and often laughed at his failures. Sometimes just to amuse himself he will act as a wingman and send newcomers to Francois for a show. Sometimes Francois got lucky, but he tended to miss more fish than he caught.

“Schmidt killed her. Apparently, she had tailed him and was a problem.”

Robert didn’t seem the least bit concerned or shocked by what Francois had to say. It was almost like killing people was a normal occurance for him, but it wasn’t. He was just used to hearing about Francois’ back luck. “I’m sorry to hear that mate. Why don’t you go home for the night. Tonight’s tab is on me.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I need something to clear my mind. I’ll take the broom please.”

Francois had a deal with the bartender. Robert knew that Francois didn’t get a lot of work because he was too busy drinking or fucking, so he allowed Francois to pay off his tab by doing small chores around the bar. It was usually things like sweeping the floor, wiping of tables, and cleaning dishes, but sometimes Francois got to act as a bouncer.

There was nothing more amusing than watching Francois try to break up fights. He usually ended up hitting on one or the other- sometimes both. If he was lucky, he successfully broke up the fight and got laid. However, most times he only succeeded in breaking up the fight.

Alone, Francois wasn’t that intimidating. To remedy this, Francois kept a small pistol on him at all times, so when it became necessary he used it to break up bar fights. Most of the people in the town knew his profession and also knew of his skill with a gun, so a small flash of his pistol sent people flying out of the bar as they tripped over tables and chairs, trying to get out.

Robert grabbed the broom from behind the bar and handed it to Francois, “Enjoy yourself I guess. But don’t trip over your drunk feet. I’m not helping you off the floor.”

“I’m not that drunk.” Francois mumbled as he took the broom.

Robert shook his head as Francois almost tripped over the bar stool. Although not as drunk as he usually was, Francois definitely had a little too much liquid poison in his system.

Francois began to sing as he started work on the floor. With a little training, he could have a beautiful singer’s voice, but instead he had that rough man sound to his voice when singing. It wasn’t terrible to listen to, but it wasn’t the highlight of bar entertainment either.

Many of the regulars of the bar joined Francois in his song because everyone knew it at this point because Francois only knew one song. The bar was filled with the voices of drunk men and women out of sync, but Francois loved this. The fact these people knew the words meant that they had paid atten to him, and he was a bit of an attention whore.

Once done with the song, he’d just repeat it until he was done with the bar chores. It got annoying at points because the variety was lacking. Someone seriously needed to teach Francois a new song. Anything new would do.

By the end of the night, all the people in the bar had made their great escape from the same old song they heard every night. Anytime Robert needed everyone out of his bar all he had to do was get Francois to do some chores.

With the bar clean, Francois had no choice but to leave for the night. Francois had a house. Rather, he had a house he could sleep in that was owned by Schmidt. Despite this, Francois rarely if ever actually went to it. He’d rather sleep under the stars.

Francois made his way to his special tree for the night. There wasn’t anything truly special about the tree; it was just special to Francois because very few people knew it was there. It was his safe place.

His tree was a mess in the sense that a house is messy after someone ignored laundry for a week. Since Francois never went to Schmidt’s house, Francois hung his clothes from the branches of his tree. It looked like someone didn’t quite understand what Christmas was and just decorated a random tree with different articles of clothing.

There was a particular branch that was actually two branches that sprouted from the same spot that Francois used as a bed. There was a singular pillow and a rope on the branch that he used to sleep with. He had a blanket, but he only used it when it was cold. And yes, this dumb ass sleeps in his special tree during storms.