The Drop by Howard Linskey

‘uns into the bar with cheap happy-hour offers then, when they were pissed and happy, encourage them to pay to get through a set of double doors into the night club. The music was good, the crowd wasn’t too rough and we made decent money out of the place. Obviously our own boys manned the doors on both the bar and the club, so I couldn’t imagine anything that could have gone seriously wrong in there.
    ‘You don’t think one of Benny’s lads has gone ape and killed some muppet do you?’ asked Finney.
    ‘I hope not,’ I said, ‘the paperwork would be a nightmare. They’d close us down for sure.’
    The place was still open when we got there and fairly busy for a Monday, late evening, but there was no one on the door and that was more than a bit strange. I told a barman to fetch Vince and we waited for him to make an appearance. I clocked Finney looking up at the big screen where they were showing videos on MTV.
    ‘Look at that preening prat.’ He didn’t bother to disguise his disgust. I looked over to see what had offended him.
    ‘What’s wrong with him?’ I asked.
    ‘What’s wrong with him? To start with his shorts are at half mast. How can he walk in them? I’ve not seen shorts like that since Stanley Fucking Matthews. He’s got a dog lead round his neck and a plaster on his face. What’s he done? Cut himself shaving? There’s bum fluff on his lip and he’s wearing a hat I wouldn’t have on at the beach. Who is he? He’s a disgrace.’
    ‘That’s Nelly.’ I told him.
    ‘Nelly? For fuck’s sake,’ he snorted, ‘I used to have an Aunt Nelly,’ he jabbed a sausage-sized finger at the screen, ‘and she was probably harder than him.’
    She probably was, if she was related to Finney.
    When Vince showed up I asked him, ‘why is there no one on the door?’ in reply he simply jerked his head to one side to indicate we should follow and took us behind the scenes to the little office with the CCTV monitors in it. ‘You need to see this,’ he said, pushing a button to play a scene he had obviously set up for us.
    We watched in silence as a grainy black and white image appeared. We got a bird’s eye view of the lobby between the bar and the club. There was, as always, one of our girls standing behind the counter waiting to take the entrance money. Nearby, in front of her counter, stood the huge, hulking figure of Benny Evans and one of his lads, looking like a couple of sentries on guard duty. They had on the regulation uniform, black shoes and trousers, white shirt, black leather jackets. They were all bloody enormous guys on our doors but they needed to be, to deal with the tanked up specimens we were serving.
    The image on the screen kept changing, flashing back and forth between the door of the bar where, sure enough, two more of our lads were standing right where they should have been, and the lobby of the club.
    ‘So far, so normal,’ said Vince.
    ‘Just what are you showing us here?’ I asked but before he could answer the scene outside the bar changed. It all happened so fast. There was a blur of movement as two big, heavy-set guys with shaven heads literally ran into view and went straight for our doormen. Our two guys were caught by surprise but they were used to dealing with dirty fighters. It made no difference to the outcome though, as blow after blow rained down on them. It took them all of their guts and strength just to stay on their feet, let alone fight back. Before they dropped, and they did drop, two other blokes - the same types, big buggers with close-cropped heads - went flying between them and on into the bar. You could just make out some frightened punters in the background stepping out of their way.
    They disappeared from view but came back into it straight away, as soon as the screen changed to the scene in the lobby by the club doors. Nobody had raised the alarm with Benny and his man. It had all happened too fast for that. The two new guys went straight for Benny