As I wrote the first part a while ago, my mind has been doing what it does best, thinking up new stuff to go into the story. I'm afraid that's a bad habit of mine - on re-writes, you're supposed to tighten-up the story, not lengthen it.
Ah well, I hope you enjoy this new piece.
Images from Google free to use search, book cover my own
Zack’s dark shadow flitted down shortcuts and alleyways to the car park, a hop, skip and a sprint from the club. The car park adjacent to the club benefitted from CCTV cameras and recording equipment in the club’s offices, which made it a safer option for the paying customers but not necessarily so for the door staff. On more than one occasion, he’d been able to watch a colleague’s car as vandals, and disgruntled ejectees took out their frustration on vehicles – not always those belonging to the bouncer that ejected them in the first place.
The most memorable event regarding vehicle vandalism happened one Christmas time. Snowstorms whistling around the eaves, the door staff complaining about the bitter wind howling through the open door. Mikhail wouldn’t allow them to close even one of the double doors, though the walk to the club made for the perfect wind tunnel when the storm blew in from the North. By eleven-thirty that evening, no one else would be braving the storms to get to the club, that much was evident to everyone but the boss.
The few customers that had shown up to party proved to be only the most dedicated punters – the regulars and die-hard drinkers. The club stood half empty, despite the cut-price entrance fee and they still had to deal with trouble. One guy started the night off with his friends and as they left one-by-one, after deciding the storm, rather than abating, had settled in for the night at least, became so maudlin-drunk that when he was asked to leave, he swiftly turned to rage.
One young woman complained about his hands – he couldn’t keep them to himself. Zack wandered in to have a quiet word to keep his hands off the customers. The guy sat at the bar with a wide berth all around him.
He lifted his chin to the barmaid to silently ask about the guy. She mimed cutting her own throat with one index finger. When she mimicked hanging herself, tongue lolling, head to one side, Zack got the idea that the customer was becoming depressed. He went to have a word but before he got to the seated customer, a group of women arrived at the bar, and the barmaid went to serve them.
The guy lifted his head as though he sensed the group of happy, tipsy celebrating women. He looked over at them, and the closest woman to him received his version of ‘ice-breaking’. He slipped his hand up her leg, ruffling her skirt all the way to her bottom.
She turned to face him, and Zack read her lips. ‘What the fuck are you doing? Get your filthy mitts off my arse!’
She didn’t appear to like his reply because she leaned back and slapped him. Zack heard the sound of the slap over the music and the din of the crowd. The guy fell from his bar stool, and the girl’s friends pulled her away. The drunk, depressed guy sprang up, surprising Zack with his sudden agility. He went towards the woman, and though they backed off further, Zack could tell that at least two of them had some self-defence knowledge and could probably deal some damage to the unsuspecting idiot.
Zack called for back-up, and three of his team came running. “I didn’t expect half the team; it’s only one guy,” Zack said.
“Yeah, but it’s the only way we’ll get warm,” came the reply.
“Fair enough, let’s get this joker outside and on his way,” Zack said.
Perhaps because he’d been so upbeat and jovial on his way in, when the door staff had to ask him to make a move, his violent reaction amazed them. The guy couldn’t have been taller than five-four, but his agility, insensibility to pain and determination to remain where he was, took the team by surprise.
Eventually, with the club customers looking on in bemusement, all four doormen took one limb each and carried the struggling drunk out. They set him on his feet and made sure he didn’t try to return.
The guy took his phone from his pocket and dialled. Zack assumed he was phoning a taxi or a lift home and turned to go back inside and a snowball hit him at the back of the head. Apparently, even though he was falling-down drunk, the guy was also a great shot.
