A Little Old Lady Walks Into a Bar

 The door clicked open, much to Rhonda's satisfaction. No matter how many years passed or how strongly time had stolen the deftness of her hands, a lock was a lock.

She was glad to be in from the cold. While a quiet, unassuming room by the docks was fitting, the sea spray and the chill wind coming over the water froze her tiny frame to the bone. But, now that she was in, she felt that old familiar rush, that spark of adrenaline that would course through her and be all the warmth she needed. It felt like decades since she'd experienced it. Perhaps it was.

A moment later, she was wishing that same rush would dull some of the pain from tripping down the short flight of stairs. Rhonda landed heavily on her hip, wincing, knowing she'll be paying for that with interest over the next several days. The room that was full of the sounds of good cheer and the clinking of glasses a moment ago was abruptly replaced with a stunned silence.

Two rushed to her side, pushing through the tables and chairs that were in their way to reach her. One, a man with a bowler hat, the other, a young woman with the side of her head shaved. They placed their arms under Rhonda's, gently guiding her up. She winced, let out a quiet whine, and slipped a few inches - digging in her nails on their forearms in a futile attempt at latching on.

"What the hell is this?" came a deep, gravelly voice from the other end of the room.

"We've gotcha, don't worry!" the man in the bowler said. "Jesus, that was quite the tumble. Are you quite alright?"

"Oh, yes, I believe so," Rhonda said. "I've taken a few tumbles in my time." With a nod of thanks to the two, she scanned the room. It certainly fit the bill, in her mind. Small, tilted tables, a bar that looked as old as her, lighting that would make a cockroach comfortable. Of course, that was just the scenery; the importance lay in the gentlemen and ladies occupying the old, rickety chairs.

At the back was a large man, bald as can be, and a brow that would have been more appropriate in the stone age. At his side, picking the darkest corner, was a thin man with a thin beard, the hair on the top of his head shaggy and unkempt. He had his feet up on the table, flipping a coin, strangely nonchalant considering the sudden turn of events. Lastly, a woman with a shock of bright red hair was on her left, near the bar. She had an expression on her could make a snake look warm and inviting.

With a nod and a friendly smile, Rhonda walked right up to the centre of the room, standing patiently at a table. In her hands she held a tiny clutch and a walking cane. A sideways glance at the lady with the shaved head was all she needed to get the chair pulled out for her. "Thank you, sweetheart," she said.

It seemed to take a moment for the gears to turn in the big one's head, but when they finally started to shift, he cracked a smile. Then, deep and bellowing, he let out a hearty laugh. The thin man and the red-haired one joined in, soon enough all adding to the chorus together, slapping their hands on the tables and lifting their glasses in cheers. "What a turn this is, eh?" the big man said. "A little old lady walks into a bar. It sounds like the start of a strange joke." He leaned forward. For a moment it looked like the table wouldn't be able to handle his tremendous bulk. "I don't think you've come to the right place."

Rhonda smiled at him, tilting her head slightly. "Oh, dear, I do believe I'm in exactly the place I wish to be." They all laughed again. Rhonda frowned slightly. "As expected. Now, I do believe you may be laughing a touch too often. A smarter man would question how I got in, rather than mock my misfortune. My first piece of advice; take what you do seriously! Wouldn't you say?" she said with a nod to the man wearing the bowler. He didn't respond, just went wide-eyed in confusion.

"Little tough to do when an old woman breaks a hip on the way in, wouldn't you say?" the red-haired woman said. The thin man snorted loudly and the bald one slammed his hand on the table.

"And another piece of advice, and I suggest you listen to this one quite carefully. Once you're serious about the job, that means your head's in it. That's good. That's when your feet come in, and let your head guide them. Spacial awareness. Scouting. Reconnaissance." She coughed quietly. Again, to the man in the bowler. "Be a dear and fetch me some tea, would you? I've got quite the chill from outside, and I don't think the big one's bright enough to make it right."

The big man's mirth turned quickly to anger. The smirk on his lantern jaw turned slowly to a frown. "Now, I don't take too kindly to... to..."

Rhonda held a wrinkled hand up to her chest in mock surprise. "Oh, are you having a hard time standing? You seemed to find it humorous when my feet went out from me a moment ago." The thin man suddenly looked deadly serious. He stopped flipping the coin and pulled a dagger instead.

"Next lesson!" Rhonda proclaimed cheerily. "Learn the importance of a deft hand. Subtle movements. Quick tricks. Not just some cliche thing with a coin. You'll never know when they come in handy!" The thin man pulled back his arm and found the dagger slipped harmlessly from his grip, his hand weak and shaky.

"What is this?" the red-haired woman asked in a panic. "Who are you?"

"Lastly!" Rhonda called again. She looked the three that mistreated her dead in the eye, one to the next, a terror in an ageing body. "Know your enemy." The big man slipped forward first, his huge body breaking the table and falling heavily forward. The others quickly followed.

The woman with the shaved hair and the man in the bowler flexed their fingers and wiggled their feet, wondering how they escaped their fate. Rhonda read their expressions and gleefully answered for them.

"I train your kind," she said, dropping the facade of the kindly old lady and speaking with authority and confidence. "That last lesson? That's the most important. I learned the trade here myself, and I've had a few of my proteges track the comings and goings to see what kind of people I'd be dealing with. I don't bother with villains and miscreants anymore. Not worth what time I have left. I'd prefer to work with the kind that would help a harmless old lady, lost on her way home." She tapped her arm on the spot she scratched them both. "One of my students came up with the antidote. It won't be as potent through the scratches, but it'll do. You'll be right as rain in a day or so. Another one of mine came up with the gas, and the means to pump it in here the moment I arrived."

"So..." the woman stammered, still processing the events. "What do you want with us?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the old lady asked, finding it to be her turn to laugh. "I'm offering to teach you."