Prologue and Chapter 1

Godless

By Oliver Mell

Prologue

A woman started to cry, John placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“I promised him I wouldn’t cry,” she said it so quietly that only John heard it. The microphone didn’t pick her up. John gently squeezed her shoulder to let her know he was there, and then he let go.

John and the woman were stood on a stage behind an alter, an old lady sat at an organ behind them, and a small congregation of people gathered in front of them. On the back wall to the stage were three huge stain glass windows that stretched right to the roof of the church. They flooded the room with lively colours of orange, red and yellow.

The woman took a second to compose, and repositioned herself closer to the microphone.
“He could be a bit of a shit, sometimes.” The entire front row broke out in polite laughter, the joke broke the ice. “He’d pretend to snore in bed if we argued, and he’d never admit when he was in the wrong...” A small baby started to cry. The mother, dressed in black, tried to hush her. She made more noise than the baby had done in the first place. “But he’d always wink before he kissed me when we made up...”

John looked down at the first row to the deceased’s father, a seemingly distant and withering figure. He’s not going to last the winter. You’ll all be back here before you know it. John tried to hide his cynicism with an outward gesture. He exaggerated a thoughtful nod to go along with what the widow was saying. I don’t see the big deal any more, people die, and you deal with it.

“Then he got sick,” she’s getting to the serious part, look thoughtful. “Ash started to ask questions about what was happening and where Dad was going. It was first time I heard my husband talk about heaven.” John tried to keep his eyes straight ahead. He had a habit of letting them wonder round the room when his concentration slipped.

“At first I found his faith hard to accept, but he never asked me to. He told me it was his journey to take and his questions to ask…” Tears formed again and John wanted to make another gesture to show he was paying the up most attention. He smiled gently, and tilted his head.

“The only thing he asked was to take me to Venice and ride on a gondola. That’s my lasting memory of my husband, and it makes me very proud.” She sat back in her seat, and John paused for another polite second to make her speech sound more dramatic. There was a collective sound of sniffles as mourners tried to hide their tears. John approached the microphone.

“I’d like to thank Catherine for that thoughtful and memorable speech, and for her courage.” John watched Ash hold his mother’s hand.

“We will go now to the Lords Prayer and then to our final hymn.” The congregation bowed their heads. One teenage boy at the back got it wrong, maybe he hadn’t been listening. He stood up expecting everyone to stand and sing. He realised what he’d done wrong and sat back down quickly. John heard sniggering from the back row.

“Our Father, thou art in heaven…” The congregation repeated every line after him. After the prayer, the piano came on with a powerful bass from the speakers. The congregation stood to sing the last hymn. ‘Thine be the glory.’

At the end of the hymn, John started to walk down the aisle. The front row stayed standing. They waited for John to pass him. The pallbearers had managed to creep in from the sides and now carried the coffin behind the Priest. The front row walked behind them. The coffin was carried off like a warrior’s body from the battle ground, held high with honour. I don’t get it any more, all he did was die.

John stood at the exit with the widow and the father, and the boy. As the congregation left the church they thanked everyone for paying their respects. Ash had placed a plastic wreath of flowers that spelt DADDY by the exit. After everyone had a few minutes to see Ash blatantly positioned near the wreath, the cars took the family to the pub for the reception.

John managed to smile at the bar girl, then the father thanked him for his service. Graciously John chose a compliment to give back in his Priest’s voice.
“I must say I marvelled at your courage today, and that of your Grandson. You must be very proud.”
“You know, Father,” the old man coughed. “That boy reminds me of my son more and more every day. It was good when he started to go to church. But don’t expect see him there any more.” He pointed his shining eyes towards the crying widow, comforted in the arms of a ruggedly handsome friend. “That cow never went to church, or let me take Ash. I told him she’d be trouble from the start.” John wanted to let out a groan. Already I’m involved in the family feud.

“I don’t like to think of myself as forcing my faith on people, especially children. Perhaps Ash will want to go to church after this. She might see that he needs some guidance.”
“Believe me, if she has her way, that’s the last you’ll see of that boy in your church.” John pondered. He wanted to get the chance to talk to the widow. She’s probably a Saint. The old man just didn’t like the idea of her humping his son! After a few minutes, he got his chance. She came up to him with another full glass of wine.

“I just came to say thanks for the service,” John smiled at her. See, she’s nice enough. The old man just doesn’t want her to inherit everything when he pops his own clogs! “And to say that anything his father said about me was a lie.”
“I don’t get involved in family affairs and I’m not here to judge.” John thought that sounded mature of him, like she’d expect.

“Well, I feel like I have to defend myself.”
“No, really, you don’t,” it came out as anxious.
“I don’t believe in God,” she said just as John was about to interrupt. “Neither does Ash.” It stopped John dead.
“I see,” it was all he could think of saying.

“Neither did my husband.” John would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t interested now. “He never mentioned God before he got sick. Religion just never came up.”
“And when he got diagnosed?” the priest asked.
“Nothing changed. He was just scared of dying and even more scared for Ash. That’s why he started going to church.” John simply couldn’t speak. It was like she was poking him with a stick, trying to get him to bite. “Please don’t feel bad about me for saying it, but I don’t see the point in being scared into believing something. It isn’t real faith then is it?”

She left him, spilling his coffee over his fingers and burning them slightly. He put the coffee down and sucked his fingers clean. Bitch.

John relished that the reception wasn’t at the church. He’d have had to wait until the end and then clear up. He’d been there long enough to make his farewells and disappear quietly and respectfully. However, now he felt so unnecessary that he didn’t bother. He calmly put his cup and saucer on the bar, thanked the barmaid and started to walk home.

All that time he’d been coming into my church and he didn’t believe a thing. He was only there because he was scared. How many people actually do believe? Or is everyone just in church as an insurance policy? He got to Trent Road, and there was someone sitting on the steps to the church.

Not today, please. No junkie tramp. No desperate soul. I can’t counsel anyone. I need a pint. As he got closer still the man stood up, smiling at him. John saw the army fatigues. The green satchel was old, but this was no tramp. Besides being in dirty clothes, this man was quite well put together. John realised who it was from twenty metres away and his heart leapt with rare joy. It was his brother.

Part One

I

Peter had seen John from across the street as the funeral was ending, he watched from a distance as they drove away. He’d thought about waiting inside but he knew Margaret, if she was still here, would never let him get a moment’s peace. Peter decided to sit on the doorstep and wait.

Eventually, he saw John walking down the street. Even he had to admit it; they were as similar as twins. We even walk the same.
“How about a pint?” Peter asked after they had hugged each other.
“I was supposed to get some things done, but it can wait until tonight. Come in while I get changed.” John offered.
“Is Margaret still working here?”
“I left her cleaning after the service. I won’t let her bite you!” Peter laughed.

The priest led his younger brother into the church. Peter noticed the new navy blue carpet, the new speakers and the new upholstery that was on the pews.
“You’ve had this refurnished.” Peter shouted above the level of the vacuum cleaner. Margaret hadn’t heard them come in.
“On a budget, they thought a small refurbishment might get more people in.” Peter couldn’t quite hear him, he pointed to his ear.
“Margaret!” John shouted.

She looked up with the machine still on. On seeing Peter she almost leapt in the air. Margaret switched the vacuum cleaner off and ran over, hands waving.
“Oh praise the Lord you’re home!” She said, placing her hands on his broad shoulders and kissing him on both cheeks. Peter just smiled at the old lady, copying one of his older brother’s fake smiles. “I prayed for you’re safety every night.” She turned to John. “John, you take your brother somewhere to catch up. I’ll finish off around here.”
“Are you sure, Margaret?”
“I insist,” she said. Peter smiled remembering in a fond way, exactly how stubborn she could be. “Now go and get changed.”
“I won’t be long.” John left the two of them.

“My, you have grown up!” Margaret said, grabbing his cheeks with her wrinkled fingers and inspecting his face.
“I’ve only been gone for a year.”
She waved his last sentence away with her flapping arms.
“So then, I’m dying to know, how was it?” The smile on her face made Peter take a step back.
“It was a war, Margaret.”
“A war!” she exclaimed with wide eyes. “If your father could hear you say that. A real war! Your father served, you know, in the first Gulf war.”
“I know, he died just after,” she didn’t catch his tone.

“You must have some fantastic stories… Oh I was so proud of John for joining the priesthood but this is a real honour! To fight for your country! To fight for your religion! To fight for God! You’re a knight of the twenty first Centaury crusade!”
“I don’t think it was really all about that.”
“But you are! You are! Any way,” she waved her hands again. “You don’t need an old woman like me preaching to you at this time of day. Would you like a cup of tea?”
As much as Peter hated being near her, as much as he wanted to tell her what he thought of her religion, an English cup of tea sounded really good.
“Yes, thanks.”

It was worth it. The tea was better than in the barracks. Margaret had led him into the kitchenette at the end of the Sunday school room. It was full of knee high, red plastic furniture. A professional had been brought in to paint pictures on the wall. There was the feeding of the five thousand and the nativity scene. They’d even done a very un-graphic version of Jesus with a beaming smile on the cross, and a big multicoloured bunny bouncing on some hills for the resurrection.

“We had Janette’s son come in and do the walls.” Margaret sounded proud.
“Big bunny!” Peter smirked, he couldn’t resist.
“He got mugged the other week, for drug money I’ll bet.” She exclaimed. Her face went sullen, and the room went quiet.

“There’s far too many of them here now, you know!”
“Who?” he asked, the old lady leant in and whispered.
“Gangs, kids, druggies, they’re all the same. They hang around the bus stop. One of them beat up our Tony too!” She was getting exited again, Peter gritted his teeth. “It’s the government that’s gone soft on them… I don’t feel safe in my own town any more, and that’s not right you know.” He thought she was going to cry. “It’s not the country your dad fought for, and it’s not right for you to go and fight for them!” I hate it when people try to tell me why I’m fighting for this country.

“Margaret,” Peter smiled. “You make a good cup of tea.” He winked at her, and wondered if he had come across as too condescending. A moment later John came down the stairs, Peter could have kissed him.
“Well, be good the both of you and don’t get your brother into any trouble now you’re back.”
“See you tomorrow Margaret,” John said as they went out the small room.
*
“So, how have you been?” asked John, once they were sat in a booth with a pint. “You look good, despite the old clothes.”
“Wish I could say the same for you. You look ten years older than when I left.” You never were subtle with your big brother, Peter told himself, then he looked at John, what he had said was true.
“I’ve been busy, stressed.” The words slipped out. Peter sipped his pint with relish.
“What was it today, wedding or funeral?” Peter changed the subject from how worn his brother looked.
“Funeral, people don’t really get married in my church any more.”
“Any one I know?” Peter asked. John shook his head. “How did they go?”
“Bone marrow cancer, it came out of no where, he didn’t have a chance.” Peter noticed that John was looking past him.
“Did he go to heaven?”
“Does it matter?”
Peter frowned, what’s changed?
“Are you okay?” he asked John.
“Yeah,” his older brother nodded into the distance. “So how come you’re back early. We weren’t expecting you for another few months.”
“I had an accident, got sent back on medical. It’s nothing serious.”
“What are you doing for money?” John asked, Peter frowned and shifted in his chair.
“I’ve got a bit saved up and I’ve found work bouncing in a night club.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I’ve got myself in a council flat at the top end of town.”
“You’d be safer back in Iraq.”
“Don’t joke, I heard about the guy from Birmingham coming home. First night back and he gets shot dead while a gang steal his car.”

“If you want to stay at mine…”
“I’m staying in town. It’s close to work… Jesus Christ, you can really take the piss sometimes.” Peter looked away, scanning the bar.
“It’s the priest in me, hard to put him away sometimes.”
“Well try,” the younger brother said.

Peter grinned at him after the pause.
“How is God these days?”
“I haven’t had that much time alone with him recently.”
“Oh yeah, why’s that?”
“Like I said, I’ve been busy.”
Peter chuckled.
“I didn’t know dead people could take up so much time!” They both had a laugh.

“Do you ever feel like you’re in the wrong job?” John asked, changing the tone.
Jesus I wasn’t expecting a serious conversation.
“I don’t know it’s my first night tonight.” Peter smirked, sensing the frustration in his brother’s face.
“I meant in the army.”
“Most of its bullshit, you think you’re doing something worthwhile, something that counts.”
“So what do you do when you find out you’re not?” John asked.
“I came home.” Peter watched John’s smile appear, like a break of sunshine in the clouds. Peter finished the dregs of his pint. “I’ve got to go to work.” He stood up and looked down at his older brother. “Hey,” he said. “Don’t make me worry about you. I’ve got my own problems, okay?”
John nodded, Peter left the pub.

Peter walked to the other end of town, past ‘The Place’ nightclub that was now closed down. He went past the Spitfire Pub, to the collection of five high rise flats that were clumped together. He was in the middle flat, on the third floor, number 308.

I should have registered as an asylum seeker. They’d have put me in the penthouse. He stepped into the part bedroom, part living room with kitchenette. The bathroom was opposite the bed, there was a small store cupboard to the right and that was the entire flat. He went to his bed and took his army-issue sack out from under it. He flung it on the bed and took out his medication, which he swallowed without water.

Peter had no hot water for a bath, so he had a cold wash instead. The club was down the road from the Spitfire Pub, at the bottom end of Trinity Street. If he got ready and left now he would only be twenty minutes early, maybe ten if he stopped for gum.
*
This place looks more like a warehouse than a nightclub! Peter thought from the outside. The brickwork of the external walls stopped at the first floor level, going from the first floor to the roof, the walls were corrugated metal. The metal made up the roofing as well. The only thing that would make the building stand out as being a night club not a warehouse was the neon lights running along the wall spelling V E N U E O N E.

Peter rang the bell to the staff entrance. A slim built man let him in through the staff doors and down a corridor into a small blue-walled staff room.
“Hi, I’m Dan,” he seemed in a rush. “I’ll just be a minute, take a seat.” Dan left him. Peter sat for a while scanning the room. There were a couple of posters hanging on the walls about customer service. There were also some health and safety notices on lifting heavy boxes and a few messages to staff from “The Management.” Inside the staff toilets was another one:

“You have been warned. Any staff caught smoking in the toilets will be severely disciplined, The Management.”

A second later Dan came back with another man.
“Pleased to meet you, I’m Garry.”
Dan coughed in a noticeably high-pitched squawk.
“Garry is our head doorman, he’ll show you around and have a chat with you.”
“Follow me mate,” Garry said. He led him down the stale musty corridor past the cellar and through another door.

Peter wanted to hold his nose. A smell of stale air came out from the carpet and coming from some where was the smell that flat gas makes, like off eggs.
“Smells, doesn’t it?” chuckled Garry, Peter nodded. “We check the toilets regularly for fighting, and guys going into the girls.” Peter became aware of the room beyond the smell. He was in a circular communal wash room with a big hand fountain in the middle and hand driers round the walls. One door led to the gents, one to the ladies, and one door led into the reception of the club. The reception was where the admissions and the front doors were. Down and on the left were the double doors that led into the club.
“This is the reception or ‘front doors,’ you’ll be inside tonight, but the ones you bin come round here for round two.” Garry led him through the main doors.

Peter took a look around the big space. There were two podiums for dancers on either side, a big dance floor in the middle and space to walk around the outside. There was a raised area behind the stage with a bar, another bar that ran along the opposite side and another raised area to the right with a bar shaped like a horse shoe.
“There are more doors then bars, so I’m showing you the fire door numbers in order. Don’t get confused between bars and fire doors or you’ll run to the wrong place.” Peter chuckled at this but something told him he was being serious. He had the mental image of fists and teeth flying every where in one corner of the club and Peter running into an empty room, scratching his head.

Garry led him past the horse shoe bar through two double doors with a big ‘1’ painted on the corner. “Fire Door One.” They were in a small box room.
“These doors lead outside the club.” He opened them to show that they led outside to the car park and then closed them in again.

“Look around,” Peter looked above and around him.
“It’s just an empty room,” he suggested.
“Exactly,” Garry’s grin got even bigger. “No cameras.”
Peter thought Garry must think he was being a bit slow. Garry led him out the fire door. “That’s called Bar One, okay. So Bar One, has Fire Door One, got it?” Peter nodded.

Garry led him down to the long bar running along the dance floor. Before the bar was another set of fire doors.
“Fire Door Two and Bar Two,” he kicked these open showing that they were ‘externals’ and just led straight outside. There was another double fire door at the other end of Bar Two, ‘Fire Door Three.’ Garry walked in and showed Peter that it was another box room. He quickly pointed his finger up the ceiling and circled it. Peter looked up, no cameras, got it.

Garry took him out and pointed quickly to the VIP section at the corner.
“VIP bar is called Bar Three. And Fire Door Four is there too.” He led him round and up a small set of stairs behind the stage and DJ booth to another back bar, Bar Four. On the side was Fire Door Five, and as Garry showed him, the medical room. It was immaculately clean and the light inside was piercing bright.

Garry took him down to the other end of Bar Four with Door Six and then Peter was led through a set of double doors back into the toilets. That concluded the tour.

“You’re ex army right?” Garry didn’t give him time to answer. “So you can use a radio, just say everything twice and very clear. You say ‘Code Red’ if it’s all going off and ‘Mr Sans’ for a possible fire. That way if people over hear you you’re not shouting ‘fire!’ at the top of your voice and causing a panic.” Garry started walking him back to the office.
“If we call you and its not going off, we’ll say ‘no problem.’ If not it means get there quick, okay?” Again Peter nodded. “Good, now just sort the paper work out with Dan.”

The paper work was referred to as ‘C.O.S.H.’ It was health and safety, fire procedures, unsociable hours, rates of pay, national insurance number, bank statement and so on.

As he was finishing off, a subdued bass sound came from behind the walls. He signed a disclaimer about dangerous work and claiming in the unlikely event of injury and was about to get up and go to the front door.
“Do you smoke?” Dan asked.
“No,”
“You don’t mind?” Dan presumed and lit up. “Stay here for five. You won’t get another chance to sit till the end of the night.” Peter waved smoke away, Dan hadn’t noticed.

“Let me give you a piece of advice,” Dan said. “If there’s one thing Garry hates it’s a bully. We had one big fucker working here not so long ago. He was throwing some little lad out of Fire Door Two, the kid’s mate comes up protesting, and he cracks him on the head with the radio.” Peter almost started laughing. Dan coughed as he breathed the smoke out. “He broke the radio and split the kid’s head open down to his nose. Garry lied to the police for him, then at the end of the night, he tore him to shit in front of everyone and fired him. The big bully left in tears. The bottom line is stick to fist and boot, no weapons.” I didn’t even think about bringing a weapon. “You forgot to sign here,” Dan stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. “Better check we’re all ready to open.”

Peter made his way back round to the reception. A girl had popped up from behind box office and the dull thud of the bass now ran through the plaster of every wall in the reception hall.

“Was Dan scaring you with the rules of the place?” Garry asked.
“He said you don’t like bullies,” Garry laughed.
“He told you the story then?” Garry was smirking.
“Isn’t it true?” asked Peter.
“If he says so,” Garry replied. “Dan’s not as stupid as he looks. He tells everyone that story because most bouncers don’t listen to him. It stops them bringing knuckle dusters to work.”
“So you don’t mind weapons?”
“Why what did you bring?” Garry looked intrigued.
“Nothing, it never crossed my mind. I just wondered. You hear stories about bouncers.”
“Don’t bring anything like that to work. There’s a time and a place for things like that.”
Peter wanted to ask more but Garry was off, talking to the girl on reception.

The reception girl took three radios out of a cupboard under her stand and gave them to Garry, he tossed one to Peter.
“The channel’s right, just check it works.” Peter switched it on, it made a long beep. “Radio check, radio check,” Peter heard Garry through his radio.
“Radio check, radio check,” Peter repeated, hearing his voice come out of Garry’s radio.
“Loud and clear mate, loud and clear,” Garry said back through his, switching the third radio on. “Golf Whisky, Golf Whisky, this is Victor English signing on, good evening.” He said into it. The radio crackled something back to him but Peter couldn’t make it out. “It’s a channel shared with all the other bars, and the police CCTV towers. It helps everyone know what’s going on around town.” Its funny how a little bit of technology can make you feel safe, Peter thought. He clipped his radio to his belt.

“This will be Simon,” said Garry as a silver Mercedes pulled up on the car park. “He’s on the front door with me.” A hand full of early drinkers came down the road as Simon was getting himself ready with a radio. A minute later another small group of lads turned up. Garry asked Peter to go inside. Once inside, he looked at the early crowd. Three man team. We can handle this. Peter wondered how many of them would be needed for a thousand people.

A few other groups walked in. Peter guessed they had about thirty inside the venue. Ten minutes later he made a rough count at around eighty. He looked at his watch, nearly half past nine. The radio crackled, he didn’t get it up to his to ear on time so he had a quick look around.

In walked another doorman, this guy was big. He strolled up to Peter and introduced himself
“I’m Eddie.”
“Peter,” they shook hands. Eddie nodded to follow him and led him round to Fire Door One. The room seemed a lot smaller now he had been ushered inside.
“Listen up, Garry runs the outside I run the inside here. If you’re gunna stay you best be able to fight.” Peter couldn’t help but feel like he wanted there to be a camera here. “I’ll have my eye on you. If you’re shit you don’t come back, if you’re worth your salt then your first beer’s on me.”
“Fair enough mate.” It was the only thing he could think of to say.
“One tip,” Eddie wasn’t finished. “It’s not quiet like on watch in the army. Hold the radio with your thumb on the speaker like this,” Eddie showed him, with his thumb. “You’ll feel the vibrations when someone’s talking. You don’t miss a word then.”
Peter copied with his thumb.
“Garry shown you around has he?”
“Yeah,” Peter said.
“Alright then stay here by Door One. I’ll be by Door Six.”

In the few minutes he’d spent talking to Eddy, it seemed like a hundred people had piled in. I’d rather be back in the army. I’d have body armour, and an Enfield. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his temple, he glanced at Eddie and could see Eddie looking at him. I feel… naked. Peter told himself it was just paranoia, he was working himself up. He glanced back at Eddie again, but Eddie was looking away. Peter could still feel eyes on him. He glanced around, behind him, and in the corners. There was no one there. I’m just being paranoid.

Eddie was walking over to him. He pointed at one lad on the dance floor.
“See him there,” Peter nodded, looking at the scruffy looking thirty year old Eddie was pointing too. “He’s a right rough prick, used to bully me when we were kids. Keep you’re eye on him.” Peter stood there watching the scruffy man stand on his own, dancing with a pint in one hand, cigarette in the other. Peter noticed his face and then carried on scanning around the bars and the dance floor.

“Switch for a minute. You go by Six, I’ll go by One. I want to keep my eye on this prick.” Peter nodded, wanting to prove that at least he knew his way around already. He poised himself by a pillar overlooking the dance floor, next to the DJ box. He felt his hand vibrate. Placing the radio to his ear quickly he caught the whole message.
“Radio check, radio check…”
“Load and clear mate, load and clear…”

Again, he felt a presence. Some one was watching him, he was sure of it. He had a second look around and again he couldn’t see anyone looking at him. It’s just first night jitters. Unless Dan’s watching me on the cameras, making sure I’m not a bully.

Peter spotted his stalker. In the far corner behind Eddie, tucked into the wall on the end of Bar One, a slim shadow of a man was pressed between the bar and the fire doors. Peter knew that it was him who had been looking at him. He could feel the stare from the other end of the club.

Peter looked away and found Eddie. He was talking to ‘Scruffy’ from earlier. He didn’t want to miss the first fight of the night. Maybe if that guy sees me beat up Scruffy, he won’t want to stare me down all night. Sure enough as Peter had made his way right behind them, Scruffy swung a wide hook at Eddie. Before Eddie had time to react, Peter had locked his arm by the shoulder and started heaving Scruffy away. Eddie quickly grabbed hold of the other half as he tried to put up a fight.

They walked him round to Fire Door One. Peter caught a glimpse of the man who’d been watching him. He was a slim built man, maybe thirty years old with a unique look. He was dressed in black trousers with a black top. The man smiled and winked at him, Peter forgot what he was doing and was dragged forward as Eddie shoved the three of them through the double doors. Eddie slammed Scruffy to the floor as they went through.

Peter caught the fierce look on Eddie’s face as his boot rose up and stamped down. Peter couldn’t quite see what damage was done, but hearing the other man scream was bad enough.
“My nose! My fuckin’ nose!” Scruffy yelped out from underneath Eddie. Peter didn’t want to look.
“You’re lucky I didn’t bite your fucking chin off!” Eddie spat at him, still squatted on top. Peter thought about trying to wrestle Eddie off him before he did bite Scruffy, or beat him to death.

Peter was just about to tell Eddie enough was enough when he got up, gave one more stamp with his boot and then grabbed Scruffy from the floor and threw him through the external fire doors, closing them behind him. As Eddie turned around Peter found himself bracing up, almost putting up a guard. Eddie just smiled at him, little blood splatters were on his face from the man he’d assaulted.
“Thanks mate, that pints on me…” He patted him hard on the shoulder and spoke into his radio “Door One okay, Door One okay, one male ejected.” There was a pause then a voice came through
“Yeah cheers Eddie, we’ve got him on camera now.”

As they came out the fire door Peter remembered the creep who was staring at him. He looked over to the corner but it was just a couple groping each other. Peter went back to Door Six without being told. He wondered if Eddie would wipe the blood off his chin, if he even knew it was there.

Peter still felt jumpy. Even when the bass went too high and made his thumb vibrate just a little, he put the radio to his ear to hear the imaginary call. It became frustrating, as if they were playing with him, waiting for him to look away for a second and then they were sure to pounce on each other. He waited and waited, and then his thumb vibrated again.

“One member of security to the toilets, no problem, no problem.” He walked over, there was another door man he hadn’t met yet. They both gave each other a little confused glance. This guy was tall, fairly well built with a gruff almost foreign look.
“I’m Rick. There’s a girl collapsed in here.” He pointed to the ladies toilets then shouted, “Security coming in!”

These toilets smelt worse then the gents. The room was fairly well lit. It had a sink at one side and then became a tunnel of cubicles. There were two girls doing their make up by the sink. They both stopped and turned to look at Rick and Peter as they walked in. The cubicles were on two rows going down and to the left. Rick looked on the left side, Peter the right.

He copied what Rick was doing, pushing open all the cubicle doors and looking under all the locked ones. They went down to the end and turned left, then to the end and left again. Peter was by the very last cubicle on his side, it was locked. He leant down to look under but couldn’t see anything. He crouched right down and his ear touched the sticky floor. A used sanitary towel that had been dumped on the floor was only inches away from his head. Inside the toilet he could see a pair of legs, and the start to a skirt.

“Got her,” Peter pointed to the closed cubicle door. Rick unlocked it with a ten pence coin. The girl’s head was in the toilet, her arm slumped over the rim, and her legs were lying apart, giving them both a good look up her skirt. Rick pulled her head back by her tattered hair. The girl’s tears had made her make up run down her face. Her eyes had rolled back into her head. Rick tried to talk to her, but she was unconscious. He let go of her hair, her head flopped to the other side. She’d cut her neck on something. A trail of blood had seeped onto her yellow and pink top.

“She’s going to need an ambulance. Pick her up and take her to the medical room, I’ll go back to Door Two.” Peter pulled her out of the cubicle by her arms. He slipped on the sanitary towel, her head hit the floor. Peter looked round to make sure no one had seen him bang her head. Rick and the two girls had gone.

Peter picked her up, her head lolled and nodded around. For a second her eyes opened, and then she was sick on him. Peter almost dropped her. She was starting to mumble words but they didn’t make sense. He carried her to the medical room, feeling the warm wet patch on his chest the sick had made through the fabric of his shirt. Dan came in as he put her down in the chair.
“I’ve got it from here,” he said. “Go get yourself cleaned up.”

Before he got to the other side of Bar Four he saw Garry, walking over.
“How are you doing?” he said, smiling as he saw the sick.
“I could get used to it.” Peter said.
“Eddie said you were doing okay.”
“Yeah he’s a good…” Garry was off, he’d picked up two kids fighting on the other end of the DJ booth, Peter ran after him. When he got there he saw that it wasn’t two kids, it was a young lad and the creep that had been eyeing him earlier.

He went in to help Garry but Garry went flying out of the scuffle. The man started forcing the youth over to Fire Door Five, by the medical room. Peter landed a hand on the creep’s arm in an attempt to free the lad. Tears were streaming down the poor lad’s face and a look of sheer terror was fixed in his eyes.

The attacker turned his attention to Peter. He shoved him off with a simple nudge of his shoulder. Peter found himself falling back a few steps. By now Garry had got himself back up, he charged at the man.

The man let go of the young lad and let him fall to the ground. Peter watched the speed with which the man had grabbed hold of Garry by the throat. Garry’s eyes swelled up and his face turned red. As stocky as Garry was, he didn’t have the reach to grab hold of his attacker, who had clasped him tight by the throat and was squeezing the air out of his lungs. FUCK DO SOMETHING! Peter thought, he took out his radio and slammed it with all his body weight into the man’s head.

The radio shattered into sharp plastic pieces, Garry fell to the floor. The man seemed stunned. The corner above his eye had opened up. Peter made two clenched fists and swung as many times as he could. The man fell through the fire doors into the open air. Peter got ready for the man to charge at him. To his surprise, the strange man looked at him, then stepped back into the night and simply disappeared.

Garry got himself back on his feet again,
“Cheers,” he said, still panting. “That was spot on.”
“I thought you didn’t like a man who had to use weapons.” Peter meant the radio that was now a lump of broken plastic, metal and wires on the floor.
“Like I said, there’s a time and a place. You didn’t freeze and you did the job. C’mon, let’s get you another one.”
Peter pointed down at the lad who was still unconscious on the floor.
“What about him?” he asked. Garry simply laughed and closed the fire doors.