The Girl...

I imagine the stench of piss and urinal cakes hit him first. My fist hit him second. I bundled his yuppie ass into the nearest cubicle and set him against the flimsy plasterboard.
"There's a few things we need to sort out, a few problems we need to discuss."
"Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm the guy asking you where the girl is and the same guy who is gonna pound you if you don't tell him."
"You some kinda cop? By the time my lawyer's done with you, you'd be lucky to pound the streets."
"I'm no cop, kid."
"Then what do you want?"
I answered with a stiff backhand.
"Who are you?"
And another.
"C'mon, give me a break."
The third time, I didn't stop. I didn't like this man, if 'man' was even the right word. He was scum and I was the one who had to skim him off the surface. I slapped him around for a good few minutes: it wasn't long before he started spitting blood down his shirt. he wasn't crying yet, but I could see in his eyes that he was all ready to break.
"look what do you want, money?" He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a fresh wad of bills. "Just stop hitting me." I took the bills, gave them a cursory glance and stuffed them in my top breast pocket.
"I'll tell you now I'm not interested in your money."
"Then what do you want?"
"I already told you! Where's the girl?"
"What girl?"
I shoved his head down the toilet and flushed. Whoever was in there last had obviously eaten something bad. He came up gagging.
"What girl?"
"Blond, about five-two. Remember?"
"I don't know!"
"She was barely seventeen!"
"I don't know!"
I socked one in his gut and made him swallow toilet water. This time, when he came up, he threw up all over himself. It was a pathetic sight.
"Where is she?"
Through piss stung eyes and a thick goo of puke and blood he uttered these sporadic words: "Sampson's pawn shop, corner of west and twenty-third."
I gave him a final fist in the stomach as way of thanks and got ready to leave.

And that's when the bouncer walked in.