"Doesn't look serious," Frank said, and indeed it didn't. Maybe a punch to the face. In a way, Benito was lucky. He wasn't a big guy, and getting knocked down quickly had probably saved him from worse.
"Momento," Dino murmured and stood up. Frank carried on checking Benito over, and winced slightly when he heard a solid, wooden thump and Dino growl "Enough. Now go."
Whoever it was didn't think it worth starting in on the guy who'd waded in on his side—Frank hoped like hell Dino was at least trying to bean the right guy in each fight, because there was another—and another again, someone had had a hard head—and Frank didn't like to think how it would be if they were just storing up trouble by cold-cocking people who might have helped if they hadn't been half-brained by Dino.
And then there were none.
"Last of 'em, Frank," Dino said, heading toward the door to see the last guy went out. He'd added two more forms to the ones on the floor, one out cold and the other one on his hands and knees and vomiting impressively. Head injury, Frank worried silently to himself and then, slightly sickened by his own callousness, as long as he dies off the premises, we're golden. Although it was more than likely just a great deal of drink catching up with the guy. Fabrizzio had finally gotten downstairs—he must've heard the ruckus—and was starting to check the bodies for life-signs.
"Good work, guys," Frank said, helping Benito to a chair. His eyes looked okay, as near as Frank could tell in the lamplight—oh,damn, the lamps—he checked around hurriedly but there didn't seem to be any broken lamps that were about to burn the place down. He'd noticed that the previous owner had hung the lamps and candles up near the ceiling, and now he saw why. When the customers wrecked the place, they were less likely to accidentally torch it as well. "Dino, get the door," he said, and then looked and saw Dino was ahead of him.
"Frank, you should see this," Dino said, standing with the door open only a crack and looking out in to the street.
Frank went over. A whole bunch of rowdy drunks had spilled in to the street after a really savage brawl and hit the cool night air full of wine and hormones. There weren't many nice possibilities that suggested themselves to him.
He looked out through the gap. "Oh, fuck," he said when he saw what was coming up the street.
"What I thought," said Dino, from over Frank's shoulder. "Anything happens, we lock the door real quick, you hear me Frank?"
"Right," Frank said. Dino'd know, he reckoned. Guy had grown up in a rough neighborhood and must've seen this sort of thing before. A whole crowd of rowdies in the street and then a militia patrol—on foot, or this would've been really bad—just happened along. Frank couldn't see much—the moonlight was good right outside the club, but farther down the street was shadowed by taller buildings and the fact that the street crooked slightly there—but it seemed that they were forming up with halberds to clear the revelers away.
Since when did we get militia patrols around here? Frank had seen the like down toward the Vatican, quite close by, and a fair few across the river in the nicer parts of town. Here, on the edge of the Borgo? Let the scum slaughter each other, seemed to be the official attitude. Patrols around this neighborhood, maybe. Inside, there wasn't jack to protect or to serve, so keep 'em in to make sure they didn't come out to trouble the nice folks.
Frank snorted, softly. Set up! Danger, Will Robinson!
"Who called the militia, Frank? Any idea?" Dino asked. Sounded like he'd been thinking the same thing Frank had.
"Same guy egged on those guys to start the fighting," Frank said. "This could get ugly." Not that it was exactly pretty work right now. It'd only been a few minutes since the fight started, so most everyone was still milling about in the street outside wondering whether to go back in, call it a night, or go somewhere else. A few people were squaring up to each other, but the space and lower temperature out here meant they were less forceful about it than they'd been. And at the edge of the crowd there were guys shouting things at the militiamen. Mostly, as near as Frank could tell, about their mothers.
He got an impulse, and opened the door wide. "Folks," he said, speaking calmly and evenly as he stepped out. Behind him he could hear Dino mutter something about damn-fool crazy Americans, but there was a note of admiration in his voice.
"Folks," Frank repeated, and got some attention. "Let's get inside, hey, before the militia come? They're getting ready to oppress us all, let's go inside were we're free, eh? Come in, Frank's place welcomes no militia, pass the word, come on inside, fighting's over." And on and on, in a voice that he couldn't stop from becoming sing-song. A few people went inside, and then others. He wasn't trying too hard to get everyone in. He didn't want to get too far from the door himself, and he could see the militia dressing out into an orderly line. Those halberds looked sharp, and Frank really didn't want to be out in the street when they charged.