Something Else (9)

Chapter NINE – The Three Stooges

I pulled into the parking lot at 4:55 pm for my second shift on Saturday. An older maroon Mustang with tinted windows and a loud muffler pulled in and parked right next to me in the back of the building. The door opened and Jaycee climbed out, reaching back for an exceptionally large faux leather purse about the size of a backpack. Her curly red hair was still slightly wet, and she fluffed it with her free hand. Her makeup was perfect though, with rosy cheeks, bright green eyes, and red lipstick contrasting her pale white skin. I thought she was strikingly pretty, but I wondered what she would look like without all that makeup.

The tie-dye spandex halter top was revealing, and I had to consciously avert my eyes quickly so as not to stare at her ample breasts.

“Hey!” She said.

“Hey yourself.” I replied.

I was already in uniform, as directed by Eddie, so she must have assumed that I was the new bartender.

We began to walk around the side of the building, and I said “I’m Jack. You must be Jaycee.”

She looked at me quizzically and asked, “Do you know me?”

I smiled and said “I’ve seen you work. I was in the club last Saturday for the first time and you took care of me. You are a great bartender. I just started. Now I’m working here with you.”

“That was quick,” she said smiling demurely.

“Well, I liked what I saw.” I said, leaving the subject open-ended.

Entering the darkened club, we could see that Eddie was already behind the bar stocking the liquor. As we walked together, he looked up at us but there was no acknowledgment. Jaycee walked in front of me through the storeroom door and we both punched in. I excused myself, knowing that she would have to change into her uniform.

Tonight, there would be four of us behind the bar. Eddie took the near end. Teri had the middle station and Jaycee was at the far end. I was assigned as a floater and mainly handled beer and wine using Teri’s register. Even at 8:00 pm the customers were three deep at the bar, mostly patiently waiting for their turn to by a drink or two, or six. There was little time for kibitzing across the bar with patrons, though it appeared to me that each of the bartenders had their share of regulars and known faces got quicker attention in the crowd.

From 9:00 pm on the place was jammed and a visit from the Fire Marshall would surely have us shut down. But I guess Fire Marshall’s don’t work much after 5:00 pm or on weekends. There were easily a thousand people in the place that had a legal capacity of 750 according to the sign posted in the lobby. Many were watching the activity on the stage; the flashing lights, moving mirrors, gyrating bodies and at times a couple breaking out in a well-choreographed dancing display. The dance floor, when packed, could handle about eighty people and the DJ was skilled at keeping it full.

There were four bouncers on the clock that night. The lead guy was Louie Lavasco. He assigned stations and stood at the entrance to the main room like a statue, scrutinizing each person or group as they made their way in. He gave special attention to the ladies. Mo, Larry, and Curly did all of the work. Of course, they had real names, but Louie thought it was funny when he gave them those “special” nametags.

Mo was outside monitoring the line, enforcing the dress code, and ensuring that the right people got in more quickly. He would pass them on to Larry, who handled the cover charge. It was cash only and the cash piled up pretty quickly. Richie would be cashier and handle the money. He would signal Mo to hold the line when the cash drawer filled, then he would move the stacks to a secure drop-box that was built into the wall.

Larry and Curly were floaters. Their job was to mill about in the crowd, monitoring the demeanor of groups of men who might decide to get rowdy after a few cocktails or a six-pack of Busch. Richie, Louie, and the Stooges were all on walkie talkies with headsets and could respond within seconds to any altercation that developed anywhere in the building.

You never knew when there would be a problem. Weeks could go by without an fight or even a major argument. Then you might have issues two nights in a row. Usually on a weekend, but not always. The cause of the friction didn’t matter. No arguing, no pushing, no shoving, no punching. No knives or guns. You want to drink and dance? You want to find the woman of your dreams or just get lucky? Have at it. Have some fun.

Tonight, we would have a serious incident. It occurred about fifteen minutes before last call, and of course there was a woman involved. The crowd had thinned a bit at the far end of the bar where Jaycee was working. Each station at the bar had a “panic button.” If the bartender saw a developing situation or felt threatened, they would hit the button and a flashing light would illuminate at the cashier station and in the office. Jaycee hit the button. Richie took note and radioed the bouncers to respond.

Curly was the first to get across the room and noticed two toughs squaring off. The men were yelling and pushing each other. He could hear the shouting, but the music was so loud that many people were not even aware of the fight.

One of the combatants screamed “Are you fucking my wife?”

“Ask your wife.” The other man yelled.

A pretty blond was standing behind one of the men crying and pleading with them to stop. Louie arrived just as the two men rushed forward like two bulls and crashed together. The crowd parted, giving them room to tussle. Two other men, friends of the first two, were in a face-off but had not engaged.

Curly rushed in and grabbed one of the men by his coat. As he pulled him backward the coat opened, and he saw a snub-nosed pistol in the man’s waistband. He pulled at the gun and the man turned on him, punching him on the side of the face. The man now pulled the gun and brandished it. Everyone backed away. The music was still blaring. Coming from behind, Louie hit the man in the side of his head with a weighted leather sap. The man went down like a rock. The other man backed off. The woman went to the aid of the downed husband. Louie picked up the gun and stuffed it into his waistband.

The music had stopped but there was still noise from the crowd. “Get them the fuck out of here.” Louie said.  Mo and Larry helped the man to his feet and the three Stooges hustled them out. Richie was at the front door with a Polaroid camera. He took a photo of each one, including the woman, and told them not to come back or he would call the cops.

The man who had the gun turned back to Louie at the front door. “What about my gun?”

“What gun?” Louie said. Then he turned and went back inside the club.