A mole burrows into a bar. (Part 2)

"What'll. It. Be." the bartender repeats to his wife, this time in a much deeper, more stern tone. Her heart was beating so fast and so hard she thought she might be having a heart attack. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but could only muster a weak muffled "MMMM!" through the duct tape secured around the bottom half of her head. She knew no one could hear her.

"I'm going to need an answer, Maureen." The cold steel of his revolver made her wince as he ran it up and down the side of her face. A constant stream of tears made her pale face glisten under the basement's fluorescent lights. He had always thought she looked ugly when she cried, but tonight he was genuinely repulsed by the sight of her. He had to periodically break away his gaze to keep from feeling physically sick.

Back at the bar, the mole—having burrowed in through a crack in the basement bulkhead—was now 15 feet down the hallway and headed straight for the lounge.

To be continued...