-This is a Song About Revenge CHAPTER 1A

A ex-coworker wrote this. He quit before I was able to get him fired. Better luck next time. Anyways, it's an ok story. Decent title. I liked the end.

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From the saloon doors enters William Bennett, a tall, rather young looking man heavy with determination. The mingling of smells, rotted meat, urine, and freshly made beer, make William wince upon entry.
He looks over the few bar flies who pay no mind to him in this dark, cramp tavern. In as big a voice he can muster, William calls out, “I’m looking for Mr. Jack Clemet! Any of you be seeing him?” A low rumble ensues, expressing amusement as if something odd or funny were said.
William adds firmly, “He killed my brother, Henry Bennett, and I’m here to shoot Mr. Jack Clemet dead.”
“Go home,” a voice calls out.
“No! Stay and have a drink!” demands another.
William holds, hoping for a response.
A voice from an unseen man, speaking in the Irish vernacular, cuts through the mirth, “I don't know of this ‘Mr. Jack Clemmet’ you speak of,” says the stranger, “but one Henry Bennett I did know.”
Eerily, the laughter dies down in a hurry.
William senses something menacing in his situation, but before he is able to understand, to think of what to do, his legs have already reacted for him, moving straight towards the unknown figure.
Where most men are scared stiff in such a circumstance, a reflex has taken hold of him, driving him to action. It's s reflex in anyone raised by the pecking order taught in the streets, triggered when one is eyed and in dangerous waters, the body makes an action so as not to appear unsure, hence an easy target.
The tavern is noticeably more still, uneasily so. As he moves along, William dwells on what manor of man commands enough respect here, capable of quieting the tavern’s inhabitance.
William feels pools of urine beneath his feet, hears the stranger beckoning, “yes, yes come this way.”
Now, just a few feet from the stranger, William observes a bearded, weighty, jaundiced, older looking gentleman who seems a bit off, and instantly feels relief at first sight of this unsuspecting character. The old ruffian looks and smells as though he’s spent some time in a saloon and perhaps a barn as well. Wearing what once was an upmarket wool felt tophat and a repectable tweed frock coat, his attire is now all quite disheveled, dusty, and too tightly fit- telling any onlooker that although he’s hit a rough patch in his later years, he’s still eating quite well.
Amused by the figure before him, William says, “you have something I need hearing regarding my brother, friend? You don’t look the type he’d consort with, or are you just wanting to spin a yarn?”
“Har har,” huffs the stranger, “believe me I knew one Henry Bennett, knew him well as any man could, I would say. Have a seat my boy.”