by Adam Knight
Officer Don Mackie stood off to his left, a bit taller and leaner. Of Metis descent which is always a plus for Police Officers in Winnipeg given the high aboriginal population. He had the build of an athlete and probably still played a lot of rec hockey in his spare time. Maybe a coach, I overheard him talking about his kids one night. Like on many nights here his eyes seemed unfocused, maybe even a little sad and clearly lost in his own thoughts. Or maybe he’d just had too much to drink again. Officer Mackie seemed to get shitfaced a lot when he was at the club.
Behind them both and un-missable was Officer Gordon Miller. A complete beast of a man. About as tall as me but with fifty pounds to his benefit, not all of it fat. Some sort of a Slavic descent I figured but that was hard to determine for sure. His close cropped hair and beard belied the expansive landscape of rugged wilderness the rest of his skin must’ve been covered with. Dark coarse hair practically burst out the V-neck of his polo shirt and down his tree trunk sized arms all the way to the knuckles. Where the other three officers in this group were sleek and clean, Officer Miller was like an older model Ford truck. Solid, dependable and able to haul anything anywhere.
I was glad they were on my side.
Officer Parise stuck out his hand with a smile. “Bonjour Joe, comment ca va?”
My French sucks le bag but every Canadian knows the first question you’re ever taught in elementary school. “Ca va bien, Officer Parise,” I replied loudly while shaking his hand. “Will you gentlemen be staying til’ close tonight?”
Parise looked back at his friends with a laugh. “Absolutely. We are here until the sun comes up.”
Miller let out an elemental war whoop towards the sky, two beer bottles in each of his hands. Apparently was attempting a rare quadruple-fister. “We are gonna get fucking wasted!” He whooped again, making the girls with Aaron flinch back slightly and then laugh awkwardly.
Parise and Aaron laughed as Mackie motioned to Miller, leading him into the main bar area. Aaron shared a glance between them with Parise nodding fractionally.
“You in a rush to get home tonight, Joe?” Aaron asked, looking me right in the eye.
I paused.
On the surface, this seemed like an innocent question. I interpreted the subtext. Wanna stay for the after party, Joe? Like I said, sounded innocent enough. It had been a shit few weeks. The kind that felt like months.
But there was something in the way he said it. No, in the way he looked at me when he said it. Just in a way he and I had never spoken before.
Seriously.
Aaron’s never serious.
He’s the life of the party. The sleaze supreme. The front man for Cowboy Shotz.
He never does serious.
The pause got long in the tooth.
I coughed, covering the silence.
“Sorry, something in my …” I coughed some more, hoping the flush in my face would be confused with choking as opposed to sudden, onset embarrassment.
Parise stepped up and gave me a few whacks on the back. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Coughed a few more times to really sell it. “Yeah sorry. Should really start smoking so I can quit.”
Nobody laughed.
Can’t win ‘em all.
“So yeah, you want to stick around after? Join us upstairs for a few drinks? A few of the other doormen are invited as well. We want to talk some business. For the club.” Aaron smiled widely and both girls with him suddenly turned on the sexpot eyes, aiming them in my general direction.
I returned my poker face to its full and upright position, hoping the fact that I suddenly felt myself approaching boner factor five at something resembling warp speed wasn’t registering in my eyes.
“Sure,” I replied taking a glance up the stairs. “Depending on how the night goes, I’d be happy to hang around. Check out the penthouse.”
Aaron smiled widely and Parise clapped his hand on my shoulder. Then they turned into the main room with the girls, leaving me behind.
I glanced up the marble staircase again as people filed in past me from the main entranceway. Then I shook my head. With my luck Mom would want to go to early Mass or something, guaranteeing me a very long Sunday.
Still, a party’s a party. And everyone needs to blow off steam every now and then.
Among other things.
I wandered past the not yet packed dance floor, waved briefly to the DJ spinning in the high tech booth just off to the left of the stage where tonight’s band was warming up for their first set. All the power to the stage and lighting grid flowed through that spot, at least that’s where all the heavy duty cables and lights seemed to start from. Forty thousand watt system all flowing underneath that guys’ feet. Buddy looked like he could barely get his head out of a bong but there he stood, working away on his turntable and laptop.
I stepped up onto the stage and ignored the cracking sensation in my knee. My surgeon’s voice echoed in my head rambling on and on about rehab exercises, proper stretching and maintenance. I tuned out the memory the way I tuned him out in person. My knee still bent the way it was supposed to and I could still squat like a linebacker in the gym.
Pain is manageable. One of life’s truest lessons.
Turning out to face the bar I went over my mental checklist one last time as the rush of the people filling into the club began to buoy my energy levels. All of my points had been covered and everyone was in place. People were starting to file in steadily in small groups. The hockey game would be ending soon so the real party was about to get started.
We were ready for anything.
So of course, anything had to bring friends.
Chapter 6
It ended up being a really big night.
By some miracle the Jets survived a two goal deficit against one of the most potent offences in the entire NHL and come back to win in overtime. While it was only a regular season game it was a big win with only a week left to qualify for the Stanley Cup Playoffs. And since Winnipeg is perpetually a bubble-team in a huge hockey market this was a really big deal. The entire city was up and ready to party after this.
So naturally, people were rowdy.
Three big fights broken up before eleven thirty was something of a record. So far no one on staff had been injured beyond a bruise or two so we were ahead on our own personal score sheet. Though in my mind even one fight is too much in an evening.
It could’ve been a lot worse. Thankfully Aaron had us enforce a strict dress code policy (no sports jerseys, ripped jeans, hooded sweaters, or sneakers) which made it easier to keep the truly rowdy folk outside to hoot, holler and generally be hooligans.
As a result, two of the incidents weren’t actually in the club. They were out at the Main Street entrance. Big Mike called for backup to rebuff some fresh from the arena rowdies who were trying to jump the line and create a scene and we were happy to oblige.
Word of advice to future sports fans wanting to start trouble in clubs? If you’re still wearing your team’s jersey when you arrive, be prepared to have it yanked over your head and get pummeled Dave Schultz style.
The aftermath of fights suck. The adrenaline spike is both heady and terrifyingly addictive. I like to think of myself as moderately sedate when it comes to the bouncing gig, but I’m as human as the next guy. Once the blood starts pumping in your ears and your sense of reality goes into that high speed, gooseflesh inducing state it is a real rush.
But like any high the crash is brutal.
I leaned against a pillar near the main bar with my arms crossed to hide the shaking in my hands. Taking deep and steady breaths to calm the hammering of my heart. The last scrap hadn’t even been all that bad in comparison to other nights but for some reason my pulse was racing like I’d run the hundred yard dash. There was a cold tingle rolling down my spine from a spot just at the back of my neck all the way into my toes.
Weird, but exhilarating.
I was so damned tired.
The band was in my usual
spot up on the stage going through a variety of loud cover tunes much to the delight of the jumping and writhing mass of humanity before them. Bass and treble at top volume hammered throughout the club, echoed by the pulse in my chest and making it hard to calm down. The electricity in the air felt tangible. Almost like I could taste it.
Shelby caught my eye in between customers and motioned for a drink. I nodded shortly, relief filling my eyes. She smiled briefly and put one of her barbacks to the task. Said barback tossed me a bottle of water direct from the cooler which I immediately cracked open and drained.
Better.
Crumpling the plastic bottle and tossing it into the garbage bin, I pushed away from the pillar and rolled my neck to loosen some tension. It popped loudly in my head though no one else could hear it. I closed my eyes for a brief second and tried to get a grip on my heartbeat.
Someone clapped me on the arm. My body reacted instinctively as my eyes snapped open; trapping an arm, gripping a collar tight and forcing it up on an angle until my elbow locked out.
“Jesus, Joe!”
My eyes focused on Mark’s pain tight face just above the bunched up collar my fist was jamming under his chin. I blinked a few times, the adrenaline still blasting in my veins before letting him go.
Mark coughed and shook out his arm, rubbing at his throat as he eyed me warily. Nearby bar goers had backed away from the sudden activity. I could feel their eyes on me. Judging.
I wiped a palm down my face. It came away sweaty. Greasy.
“What the fuck’s the matter with you?” Mark yelled.
“Sorry, man.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Been a long day.”
“So you take it out on me?”
“I didn’t know... I …” I shook my head to clear it, my pulse still high but receding. “I’m just tired and it’s been crazy. I suck.”
Mark rubbed at his throat a bit more than he needed to, just to be obvious about it. “Fine. But don’t ever try that shit again.”
I raised my hands palms out in the universal gesture of peace.
He grimaced. Then punched me good naturedly – but harder than he needed to – in the shoulder. I winced theatrically.
“You owe me a beer,” Mark laughed. “You are seriously keyed up tonight.”
I didn’t say anything. No point in denying it.
He motioned me forward. “Come on. You’re friend’s at VIP.”
Threading our way through a throng of packed people always takes longer than you’d think it would for guys our size. Still, practice makes perfect. Within relatively short order we made our way down through the side hallways and up to the loading door where David was clicking the head counter and making notes on his clipboard.
Tamara stood there and waved in a perky little fashion from amidst her small group of friends, several of whom I vaguely recognized from the gym. In truth I almost didn’t recognize her without her librarian glasses, though I should’ve figured she’d be a contact lens wearer as well. ‘Course she was also dressed to kill in a un-YMCA approved mini skirt and top. If I had ever wondered how well sculpted her legs were, I now no longer needed to imagine. A little dash of make-up and a please-stare-at-my-cleavage attention drawing pendant and my little friend Tamara was going to attract some admirers.
Which was probably the idea.
Tamara stepped past David and give me a quick hug. “Thanks!” she exclaimed before making some fast introductions that I had no chance of hearing once she turned her face away from me given the noise. Still, I gave my small smile and shook hands all around.
“These guys give you any trouble?” I asked loudly, motioning to David and Mark with my forehead as they turned back to face the remaining people in the VIP line. I saw Mark give Tamara’s ass a long look and throw me a knowing smirk.
“Oh no, they were fine.” Tamara shivered a bit, rubbing at her bare arms. “Can we head inside? It was a cold wait.”
I lead Tamara and her small group back up into the club where the noise and lights were once again over powering. Without even having to check with the doors I knew we were over capacity and that it wasn’t even close. Most Saturday nights we ended up fudging the attendance numbers somewhat just in case the Liquor Commission came in for a headcount. But tonight no official in the world would believe we were at our limit of five hundred people. Aaron was willing to ride the wave and pay the fine if we got busted, which would admittedly be peanuts compared to the profit coming in.
Still, the further over capacity we got the easier it was for things to get out of control.
It took me a moment to realize that Tamara was trying to ask me something, but even when I turned to look at her I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Must’ve been the pendant.
A few moments of exaggerated lip movements and pantomime later I nodded in understanding and led Tamara’s little group up to the main bar and motioned for them to stand right in front as I walked in behind waving to Shelby. Getting her attention I then pointed to Tamara and then to myself mouthing “She’s with me!” in as exaggerated a fashion as I could. Shelby nodded immediately with a big smile, finished up with her current client and then came right over to take Tamara’s order.
She smiled gratefully at me. I nodded back and motioned out towards the crowd, regretfully. Tamara nodded and I left her there, beginning my search for a new place to perch until the band stopped butchering Garth Brooks’ entire catalogue.
Seriously, this guy couldn’t carry a tune with a wheelbarrow full of buckets.
Not finding a good place to perch and feeling way too agitated to stand still I began another perimeter sweep.
Basement was good. Packed wall to wall with people but nothing dangerous. The guards hanging out down there were standing on stools against the walls in order to keep an eye on everything. The restrooms seemed clear, no passed out bodies in the men’s room or illicit shenanigans going on. The ladies room I took on faith from the girls I asked as they departed from powdering their noses. Hopefully only with actual powder.
Up the stairs to the coat check at Main Street entrance. The ladies there were taking a breather as Big Mike was holding up the line outside. And given the number of people already crowding the club I couldn’t imagine too many more of the hundreds waiting in queue getting even a sniff of alcohol from inside our establishment.
Two long steps to my left and I stood in the entranceway to the dance floor facing the main bar and VIP section. Hard to really make out anything in specific looking out to the floor with so many people packed together in a rhythmic mess. People could’ve been in trouble or not. My instincts said no.
Over in the VIP section I could see Officer Miller with ease, his huge shouldered frame moving in a bad white man attempting to dance sort of way. His big mitts were still holding two beer bottles each. Officer Parise and the little guy I didn’t know real well - Myron something - were sitting on one of the couches talking to themselves as a plethora of scantily clad ladies shook their asses in before them. Some other men in suits hung around in VIP as well. No one I recognized specifically though one of them might’ve been a City Counselor.
