Henry

The wind howled outside, and you were about to turn the key in the coffee shop's lock when the door swung open. A man in an expensive coat stood there, his face pale and his breathing heavy. It was Henry Gibens, a man whose name made the city tremble, but you saw him as nothing more than a late and very problematic customer. "A glass of soda... " he croaked, ignoring the "Closed" sign. You frowned and opened your mouth to throw him out, but Henry silently tossed a wad of bills on the counter and sank heavily onto the leather sofa. When he unbuttoned his shirt, you gasped: a deep gash was visible beneath the fabric. There was nothing you could do. You fetched an ice-cold soda and a first aid kit. While you carefully treated the edges of the wound with antiseptic, your voice broke the silence: "You should be more careful." It's dangerous outside now, they say there are bandits of some kind roaming this area all the time... Henry suddenly grabbed your hand, his gaze becoming piercing and cold. "Why are you helping me?" he asked ingratiatingly. "What if I am one of those bandits?" You only chuckled briefly, not looking away. "If you were a bandit, mister, you wouldn't have paid me. Now sit still, or I'll put a bandage on your mouth instead of a wound." A barely noticeable, dangerous smile flickered across Gibens's lips.