Page 39 of The One Decent Thing

“Riiiight, yourroommate,” came through in a crackle a second later, in almost the same tone as the guy from the line had used. Seriously? Was I that obvious? The douche who was making fun of me was Jason, technically my boss but more like the whole staff’s annoying big brother. “Yeah, sure, Tim’ll be right there. Buy your guy a drink, right? Rick loves his ass.” After a quick pause, during which it probably dawned on him that Rick was on the same headsets, he added, “Figuratively. Figuratively, Jesus.”

I was cracking up as I checked the next group, and still smiling as I stepped inside myself when Tim got out there to take over. Tim was an older guy, Rick’s age, with a giant gray mustache, a beer belly, and enough army training to kick the collective asses of everyone else who worked there. I had no doubt in my mind that Tim was faithful to his wife of thirty years, but damn, did he ever love showing off his massive biceps to anyone who asked — and the guys on Sunday night always asked, because Tim was also funny as shit and nice to everyone.

It was a mutual, if platonic, love affair. A cheer went up as Tim appeared, and I slipped inside with a clear conscience.

The first blast of music and smoke-machine haze hit me like a body-blow, and I took a second to adjust to the flashing colored lights in the otherwise dim club. It was eye-strain city after the white floodlight over the door. The place was fucking packed — not a surprise after everyone I’d been letting in for hours. A few had taken off in dribs and drabs, but mostly they were all squeezed in like sardines. We weren’t near our fire-code capacity yet, but it sure as hell felt like it.

I edged along the wall, nodding to Rick, who’d taken up a spot near the end of the bar and was scanning the crowd. He nodded back and pointed to the other end of the bar. That was where I’d find Sebastian, then, probably with more free drinks than he could handle if Rick had already said hello.

As I got closer, I caught sight of Sebastian, and something was off. Wrong. I could tell even from twenty feet down the bar through the shifting, strobe-lit crowd. He had his arms crossed, and his shoulders were curling in, and he wasn’t smiling, even though Chris was standing right next to him. I always knew when Sebastian was on the phone with Chris, just by how much he laughed. If Chris’s presence wasn’t enough, then something was really wrong.

That something became obvious as I circled a little knot of people waiting for a bartender and got a different angle of view.

There was another guy standing next to Chris, actually getting right in his face, while Chris stood his ground, his back to Sebastian like he was blocking him. Protecting him, even.

It was Brody, and he was using his height, leaning over Chris and getting way too close like a fucking dick. He had a drink in his hand, and he was waving it around and splashing liquid out of it everywhere, including onto Chris’s sweater.

I hadn’t been at the door the whole night; I’d taken a shift at the back of the dance floor from seven to eight, and I must have missed him when I went back to the front. God fucking dammit.

Fuck. This. I didn’t know what Brody thought he was going to accomplish, yelling at Chris — did he think Chris would believe him over his own best friend? Either way, it was over. This was my bar, my fucking territory, and Brody was leaving it in the next ten seconds, either on his feet or flying through the air, I wasn’t all that picky.

“Aidan?” Rick’s deep baritone came through the headset loud and clear. “Problem?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Need to eighty-six someone.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rick detach from the wall and head through the crowd in my direction. That was standard, to have two members of the security staff handle throwing someone out, and it was just as well. If I had to handle Brody alone, I honestly wasn’t sure I could stay professional. Good thing Rick had his eyes open, because I was too enraged to remember to call someone over.

A second later, it all went to chaotic shit. Sebastian saw me first, and his eyes went so big and round even an anime character might have done a double-take. He opened his mouth and held out a hand, like he was warning me off.

He probably thought I was going to pick Brody up by the neck and shake him like a rat, and if Rick hadn’t been right behind me, maybe I would have. I was still charging ahead, determined to get Brody the fuck away from Sebastian — and from Chris, who’d go down from one punch if Brody went there. Then Brody spotted me, shouted something I didn’t catch, and threw his glass at my face. I dodged, and it bounced off my shoulder, dousing me in what smelled like cheap vodka and tonic. The glass crashed to the floor, and someone yelped behind me.

Rick got to Brody right then, twisting both of his arms behind him and starting to frog-march him straight out the back of the club. Everyone in the vicinity was pointing and staring, there were a few flashes of people’s phone cameras, Chris was flailing around and yelling, and I couldn’t stop to take care of Sebastian, because I had to clear the way for Rick to drag Brody the fuck out of there. I barely caught sight of Sebastian, leaning back on the bar and turning a scary shade of white.

“Brody!” someone yelled right by my ear. “What the fuck did youdo?” So Brody was there with other friends, fucking great. I pushed guys aside, shouting at them to get out of the way, and then Jason was there, pushing back the line waiting for the bathroom and holding the fire exit door open. I stood aside and let Rick haul Brody out, and then Jason and I stepped out to back him up.

Rick gave Brody a shove, not hard enough to make him fall but more than hard enough to make him stumble a few feet into the parking lot. Two guys and a girl who were standing and chatting a row over turned, stared, and all lit cigarettes in unison, leaning back against their car to watch the show.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Brody shouted. “Who the fuck do you think you are? I’m going to fucking sue you!”

“I own this place,” Rick said, not even out of breath. I was panting like a racehorse, though it was more from pure fury than exertion. Fuck, but I wanted to tackle Brody to the pavement and beat him within an inch of his life. Jason shot his arm out in front of me just in time. I hadn’t even been conscious of moving. “You’re banned for life. It’s all on camera, and half the people in there know your name and where to find you, so it’s up to Aidan here,” Rick jerked his chin in my direction, “whether he wants to press charges on your sorry ass or not.”

“Him?” Brody laughed, his face twisting up into something ugly. “Press charges? You even know what kind of fucking criminals you have working for you?”

“The kind who don’t throw drinks at people like a little bitch?” Jason put in, sounding more amused than anything. Jason was one of the most unruffled human beings I’d ever met. I had no idea what his story was, but I would have believed anything from former Mossad agent to repairman at a nuclear power plant.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you, you —”

“You’re banned for life,” Rick repeated, stone-cold. “You try to come back in here, I’m calling the police. And you may be hearing from them anyway. Come on, let’s head in.” He chivvied Jason and me ahead of him and slammed the door behind us, cutting off Brody’s shouts. A few bits of gravel pinged off the door, and Rick smiled sourly. “Jason, pull the footage of that too and call the cops anyway.”

Jason grinned and headed upstairs, talking into his headset as he went, making sure someone else was covering the bar area and keeping an eye on Brody’s friends.

Rick took me by the arm and tugged me toward the stockroom just down the hall from the back door. “I need to check on Sebastian —”

“In a second,” Rick said in that heavy boss-voice that I couldn’t ignore. Chris was with him. He’d be okay for a minute. But every second that I couldn’t go and wrap him up in my arms and make sure he wasn’t having a panic attack felt like a fucking hour.

Rick unlocked the stockroom and we stepped inside. He closed the door behind us, shutting out the din from the club, and pulled off his headset. I followed suit and leaned back against a rack filled with cases of beer. I liked the stockroom. All the neat rows of bottles, and extra glassware, and cocktail napkins, and at the back, a giant industrial fridge stuffed with white wine and olives and crap like that.

Rick and his business partner Johnny ran a tight ship, and the orderliness of it all brought my blood pressure down almost to a manageable level.

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