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They thought he was just another drunk.
An alcoholic sat at the bar drowning his sorrows in scotch.
He sat alone, his head in his hands. He spoke to no one, other than the barkeep.
"We'll rob him," Jip whispered in Lor's ear, pointing at the sad heap of a man. "He might not have much but he'll be an easy roll."
Lor nodded and smiled, the scar on his face turning white as he did so.
"Alright," he said. "We should do it before he spends more of his money."
Jip agreed, and they watched the man, waiting for him to visit the john.
After another scotch, the man almost fell off his stool and weaved his way to the toilets. Lor followed close behind, Jip a little bit later, making sure no one followed them in.
When Jip pushed open the door of the toilets, he was surprised to find Lor lying in a pool of his own blood.
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