And De Fun Don't Done (22 page)

With a flailing of arms and legs, Hank came sailing down onto the packed dancefloor, taking about ten punters with him when he landed. When they got up, some of them started punching and kicking into Hank, then before they knew it, on a hot steamy summer night in Florida, they were punching and kicking into each other. Harris and Otis came trotting up the stairs as planned expecting to throw Hank out. Instead there's a gigantic brawl starting on the dancefloor. And like they say on the TV commercials — that's not all. When Hank's beer went
flying it splattered over some beefy redneck's girlfriend, and the glass hit him in the head. She kicked the Mexican girl in the leg and the redneck boyfriend, being twice as big as the Mexican bloke, started on him with the help of about five of his redneck mates. So as well as the brawl on the dancefloor, they had this to contend with too. And it was spreading already as a couple of the Mexican's pals jumped in to give him a hand, and anyone else who wanted could join in as well. There didn't seem to be any shortage of players.

Harris left Otis with the Mexican, to try and sort things out with the rednecks, and charged downstairs into the dancefloor, along with the rest of the bouncers. But it all seemed too little too late. Shit, how good's this? thought Les, as he watched a big fleshy redneck break a pitcher of beer over Otis's big black head. The broken glass cut Otis okay but it definitely didn't faze him. Otis spun round with an uppercut that nearly put the redneck's jaw up through the top of his head. Norton watched fascinated as he hit the deck out cold and blood and bits of teeth started bubbling out of his mouth. Bloody hell, Otis. I couldn't have done much better than that myself. Then the brawl really got going. Otis was snotting blokes left, right and centre as they'd snipe him from all angles, and even though the Mexicans were copping plenty they were dishing it out splendidly; especially the one who started it in the first place. Every time he hit someone he either drew blood or smashed something. The women weren't bad either. One jumped on the Mexican girl's back while another punched her and bashed her on the head with the heel of her shoe. The Mexican girl grabbed whoever was on her back's arm and bit a great piece out of it; even among the noise and shouting and the disco music still pumping in the background her scream of pain hung in the air like a thunderclap. Two big rednecks crash- tackled Otis, scattering chairs and tables, drinks and people everywhere. Then a few of the brothers jumped in to help Otis and started swapping punches with the rednecks. The rednecks just seemed to be drunken
brawlers, but what they lacked in skill they made up for in size, numbers and thuggery. If the fight upstairs was getting into top gear, down on the dancefloor it was spreading like the proverbial Blue Mountains bushfire. They were all into it; including the black disc jockey.

Norton sat back against the bar in a state of amused disbelief bordering on outright laughter. It was a buzz to be right in the middle of a monstrous brawl that he had nothing to do with. He might have organised it, but he sure didn't start it and there was no one in there he knew so he had absolutely no intention of jumping into it. The way the beer pitchers were flying around that's all he'd need on his holiday. About four hours in hospital the following morning getting pieces of glass dug out of his head while some doctor put stitches in. Les was just an innocent bystander. Sort of, anyway.

Les watched a redneck smash a stool over some black guy's head, almost decapitating him, as a pitcher whizzed past his face and smashed into the bar mirror, shattering the bottles stacked there as well. He put his arm around Lori, who moved in against his shoulder. Another pitcher came sailing over the bar, followed by a chair that had the bar staff ducking for cover by now. Les was kind of bemusedly thinking how their drinks were still intact when one of the Mexicans pulled out a switch-blade knife. He didn't muck around, he shoved it into the nearest redneck's ample stomach right up to the hilt. The redneck howled with pain and anger as thick dark blood started bubbling over his hands. The Mexican slashed another redneck before a bigger one broke a pitcher and rammed it into the side of the Mexican's face, almost slicing his ear off. Even when people went down there wasn't much room to fall because more people were fighting, cursing and wrestling among the blood, spilt drinks and debris on the floor; and quite a lot of them were women. Shit! thought Les, as another Mexican pulled out a switch-blade. Knives, broken bottles. I got a pretty good idea what they'll be pulling out next.

‘Listen, Lori,' he said urgently, ‘this ain't gonna get any better. I reckon we'd better piss off.'

Lori was getting a bit worried herself but she didn't quite understand what Les said. ‘Are you saying, am I pissed off? Yeah. This is goddamn awful.'

‘Well, do you want to leave?'

Lori's eyes widened as she watched another redneck's arm get opened up by a knife. ‘Les!' she yelled, above the screams and curses. ‘I never thought you'd ask!'

Norton scooped up his notes from the bar, downed what was left of his margarita — it was just too good to leave — and started leading Lori through the melee down the stairs to the foyer. There were a number of couples leaving and uniformed security guards with their batons out charging in. The band had jumped up in front of their instruments and equipment while beneath them the dancefloor continued to erupt in more violence. Despite the seriousness of it all, this made Norton laugh like mad. Because underneath the battle raging on the dancefloor Hank was somewhere on the floor getting the shit kicked out of him. And if that wasn't worth a laugh nothing was. It was definitely worth a hundred dollars. Next thing they were out the door and going down the escalators as about half a dozen cops in riot gear came charging up.

‘We'll go straight back to my place,' suggested Les. ‘It's okay there. Plus I got some drinks and there's a pool.' ‘Sounds fine by me,' replied Lori. ‘How do we get there?'

‘Air-conditioned luxury — with a bit of luck.'

When Joey the limo driver dropped Les off and gave him his cards, Les said he was going to Club BandBox and he'd probably be leaving before closing time. Joey said he sometimes parked there under some trees near the front. He'd keep an eye out for him. More squad cars, their sirens wailing and lights flashing were pulling up out the front when Les led Lori past the fountains. Sure enough, there was the limo, backed in under some palm trees with Joey leaning against the front. He spotted Les walking over and waved.

‘Hey, what the hell's going on up there?' he said, as Les approached.

‘Nothing much,' replied Norton. ‘Just a few blokes getting stabbed and their heads kicked in. A sort of quiet riot.'

Joey looked at Norton and smiled. ‘Did you start it?' he joked. ‘Come on. I bet you had sumptin' to do wit it.'

‘Not me, mate. I had better things on my mind.'

Joey noticed Lori and he gave a silent whistle. ‘And just who is the beautiful lady?'

‘Exactly that, Joey.'

Joey opened the back door for Lori. ‘Good evening, ma'am,' he said graciously. Lori smiled back as she stepped inside.

‘Back to where you picked me up on Manatee,' said Les. He gave Joey a wink just before he climbed in over Lori. ‘And you needn't go through any red lights.'

‘Slow and steady it is, sir,' smiled the driver, and closed the door.

Lori was on Norton's left, she smiled, possibly a little impishly, and eased up against him. Les draped his arm around her shoulder. ‘Well, I'm feeling pretty good, Lori,' he said. ‘I wonder how Hank's feeling right now?'

‘Yeah, I wonder,' chuckled Lori. ‘Wow! I didn't quite see it all start. But that little Mex sure pasted him.'

‘Then it just kicked on from there. Serves him right anyway, spilling his drink over that girl. She seemed quite nice and he started paying out on her. The goose.'

‘He had a scuzzy mouth alright.'

Les smiled down into Lori's beautiful dark eyes. ‘That's one thing I'll say about you, Lori, my sweet little mint pea. You ain't got a scuzzy mouth. In fact, I'd say you've got one of the sweetest little mouths I ever seen.'

‘You think so?' invited Lori, running her tongue over her lips.

‘I'd go so far as to hazard a guess.' Well, thought Les. I'm not here for a long time, just for a good time. He looked at her for a moment then kissed her.

Norton was right; Lori did have a sweet mouth and an
even sweeter tongue. After a few moments she parted her lips some more and it flicked out like a tiny pink flame to be met by Norton's. Not a lot at first, then things just seemed to develop. Les placed his hand in the small of Lori's back and drew her to him. Her skin was as smooth and firm as polished brass and the muscles around her shoulderblades rippled under his fingers with an exquisite, almost panther-like strength. Even her neck was firm and sinewy but lovely to run his hand and tongue over every silken crevice. Les couldn't remember a woman with a body like this. She was wearing no bra, though you would never know. Her breasts weren't all that big but they just sat there when Norton cupped them in his hand and the nipples sprung up like they were spring loaded when Norton massaged them delicately with his fingers.

It wasn't long and Norton was starting to come to the boil; so was Lori. She ran her hand under Norton's shirt and across the hardness of his stomach. Lori must have liked what she felt also. Instead of undoing his shirt she ripped the buttons open and started scrabbling at the hairs on his chest and around the back of his head. That's alright about the shirt, Lori. It might be worth ninety dollars in the shop, but I got it for twenty-five in a pub. Les slipped his hand onto Lori's crutch and began stroking gently. They more he stroked the more Lori spread her legs till they were both somewhere between the back seat and the floor of the limo. Lori's breath was coming in short sharp gasps and Norton was seriously thinking of slipping out of the headlock she had on him, whipping off her jeans and giving it to her on the back seat when the limo rocked to a halt and he heard Joey's voice.

‘Hey. You in the back. We're here.'

‘Huh?' Norton's head came up and he blinked around like he was coming out of a trance. ‘What'd you say?'

‘4771 Manatee. Ain't this where you live… sir.' By the time Les figured out what was going on Joey had come round and had opened the back door. Les climbed off Lori and somehow they both managed to climb out of the limo. The driver looked at what was left of Norton's
Hawaiian shirt and somehow managed to very discreetly smile just with his eyes. ‘Did I tell you about our extra service returning lost buttons? I don't believe I mentioned that to you… sir.'

‘No,' heaved Les. ‘You didn't. But I'll take your word for it.' He fished into his jeans and came up with about fifty dollars in drawings of Jackson, Lincoln and Washington. ‘Listen, I might be needing you later on to take the young lady home.'

Joey took the money and looked at both it and Norton lovingly. ‘I won't be far. In fact, I am going to do another couple of jobs. Then I will wait right here till you and the lady have finished whatever it is you are finishing. Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, ma'am.'

‘Yeah. Goodnight,' croaked Lori.

Inside the condo there was absolutely no mucking around. Les hit the loungeroom light and wouldn't have minded just one drink, but the glow burning in Lori's onyx eyes said different.

‘The bedroom's just down there,' pointed Les.

‘Good.'

Lori didn't need any help at all getting her clothes off. Les barely had time to get out of his jeans and what was left of his Hawaiian shirt when he got a glimpse of a sleeveless Levi jacket and a pair of delicate white knickers with a blue trim sailing across the room, and Lori was on the bed with her legs apart and he was on top of her licking her neck. As well as just one drink, Les would also have liked a little more foreplay; Lori's body was something else and Norton would have loved to run his filthy rotten hands all over it. Her legs and arms were sinewy, her shoulders and neck firm, her stomach was as flat and hard as a billiard table with the most delightful wisp of silken pubic hair running up to her navel. Les had been to bed with fit girls and others into aerobics, but never with a full-on athlete. Especially a trapeze artist. This was something to drool and salivate over. Unfortunately Lori just wanted to get into it. So get into it they did: with all hands to the pumps and all guns blazing.

If Norton was just a little reticent starting, Mr Wobbly was more than keen to get into the action; he was all puffed up and his nasty little head was throbbing and pounding at the door. Les had no trouble slipping in. Lori's ted was nice and firm, but all the work he'd put in on her in the back of the limo had her a bit like a washing machine someone had dumped a whole packet of Rinso into; she was bubbling over and foaming everywhere. Nonetheless, she gave a squeal of delight, which soon turned into one continuous fervent moan as Norton slipped through the gears, a little like whipping his bike along the beach. That was one of the two things helping Les for a good romp in the sack. The bike riding had pumped his thighs up, so he had no trouble thumping away, and the 2000 or so margaritas he'd drunk had slowed his mind down just enough to stop him blowing his bolt too soon. Norton seemed to go for ages. After a while, though, Lori's moaning and groaning and thrashing around while she attacked Les with her tongue started turning him on. It was time for the grand finale. A triple, reverse somersault with the trapeze artist, and don't worry about the safety net.

From among the pile of clothes on the floor, Les grabbed a Merv Hughes, Test Series T-shirt and tenderly gave Lori and himself a bit of a clean up. This time Lori gave a kind of muted scream as Norton got Mr Wobbly where he wanted to be and slipped into gear again. Norton's face just twisted up in the most excruciating agony, it was hurting that good. He lifted her legs up, dug his thumbs into her rock hard calf muscles and, like a good Queensland boy, gave it everything he had for Australia, including what felt like both his kidneys and part of his spine as he emptied out. He got a glimpse of Lori's face in the light through the window and there was no doubt about it, she was literally screwed cockeyed.