Read Online Show No Fear: A Bouncer's Diary by Bill Carson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bill Carson
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practiced for years; it went through his guard and the palm of my right hand struck him in the centre of the chest. The impact sent him flying backwards and he went upside down over a table full of drinks sending glasses, bottles and punters in all directions. Now we have two outside and two on the deck three to go, when they saw their mate go flying over the table it must have sent the right message and they decided to fight another day. They tiptoed over their fallen comrades and walked out under their own steam. I would imagine the whole thing was over in less than thirty seconds but when it’s actually happening it seems a hell of a lot longer than that. I took no chances; you can’t especially nowadays, anyone that presented themselves as a target were treated as one. Remember, the Queensbury rules go out the window and we are going home in one piece and that’s all that really mattered. It was time to lock up; the rest of the evening’s revelers were very accommodating at chucking out time and it only took about ten minutes to clear the place. Jo asks if we would like to stay for a few beers and so after a great deal of arm-twisting we were treated to a few well-deserved pints.
John would almost always have a young lady waiting for him and tonight being no exception his chat up lines seemed to have paid off and one was waiting outside. We finished our drinks said good night to Jo and jumped into John’s motor, which was a bit of a struggle at the best of times; the car was only a mini metro. I let Pete get in first and Johns date jumps in the back with him, talk about thick if her brains were made of dynamite she wouldn’t of had enough to blow her hat off. Mind you I don’t think he was too interested in what she had between her ears.
John drops Pete and me off back at my place. Wife and kids were in bed hours ago, the fridge was stocked before I left that evening so we chill out with an ice-cold beer and listen to a bit of Pink Floyd whilst mulling over the night’s shenanigans.
St Patrick’s day, all was going well until… we spot someone in the bar who had decided to take his boots and socks off and place them on the bar, he was about six feet tall with long frizzy red hair and of a robust type of build. He was with about seven or eight of his pals and they were all knocking back copious amounts of the black stuff and getting very loud and boisterous. He was asked to put his boots back on but refused at first; here we go again I thought. I told him to stop acting like a [gob shite]. I figured he might understand if I asked him using some of his own terminology, and after that he reluctantly did as I asked. We are all back at the front door when eight or nine other Irish fellas try to enter the club. They have all had way too much to drink and so we knock them back, they are not too pleased with being refused entry and decided to give us a lot of verbal and start to crowd the door. Meanwhile the fella who had his boots off earlier is trying tell us that the guys outside are his mates and they will behave themselves, and he stars to tell them to come in. Here we go nine outside eight inside and we are in the middle outnumbered as usual. You get this lot together and there will be murders. So I push him back into the bar and put my foot against the inner door to prevent him and his mates getting at us from behind. Just as I am doing that one of them jumps up and throws a punch over his mates shoulder, which smacks John right in the eye. As soon as the blow lands, the three of us burst forwards out of the doorway to engage them in a mass brawl, at that moment a Police van screeches to a halt right outside the club, luckily for them, as we were up for that one and I guarantee you that a few of them would have never forgotten that particular St Patrick’s day. One of the coppers comes over and
takes a look at John’s eye which is rapidly turning into a nice little shiner, he asks if he wants to press charges
John would almost always have a young lady waiting for him and tonight being no exception his chat up lines seemed to have paid off and one was waiting outside. We finished our drinks said good night to Jo and jumped into John’s motor, which was a bit of a struggle at the best of times; the car was only a mini metro. I let Pete get in first and Johns date jumps in the back with him, talk about thick if her brains were made of dynamite she wouldn’t of had enough to blow her hat off. Mind you I don’t think he was too interested in what she had between her ears.
John drops Pete and me off back at my place. Wife and kids were in bed hours ago, the fridge was stocked before I left that evening so we chill out with an ice-cold beer and listen to a bit of Pink Floyd whilst mulling over the night’s shenanigans.
St Patrick’s day, all was going well until… we spot someone in the bar who had decided to take his boots and socks off and place them on the bar, he was about six feet tall with long frizzy red hair and of a robust type of build. He was with about seven or eight of his pals and they were all knocking back copious amounts of the black stuff and getting very loud and boisterous. He was asked to put his boots back on but refused at first; here we go again I thought. I told him to stop acting like a [gob shite]. I figured he might understand if I asked him using some of his own terminology, and after that he reluctantly did as I asked. We are all back at the front door when eight or nine other Irish fellas try to enter the club. They have all had way too much to drink and so we knock them back, they are not too pleased with being refused entry and decided to give us a lot of verbal and start to crowd the door. Meanwhile the fella who had his boots off earlier is trying tell us that the guys outside are his mates and they will behave themselves, and he stars to tell them to come in. Here we go nine outside eight inside and we are in the middle outnumbered as usual. You get this lot together and there will be murders. So I push him back into the bar and put my foot against the inner door to prevent him and his mates getting at us from behind. Just as I am doing that one of them jumps up and throws a punch over his mates shoulder, which smacks John right in the eye. As soon as the blow lands, the three of us burst forwards out of the doorway to engage them in a mass brawl, at that moment a Police van screeches to a halt right outside the club, luckily for them, as we were up for that one and I guarantee you that a few of them would have never forgotten that particular St Patrick’s day. One of the coppers comes over and
takes a look at John’s eye which is rapidly turning into a nice little shiner, he asks if he wants to press charges
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