Show No Fear: A Bouncer's Diary (4 page)

Monday afternoon... I had just finished a particularly tough two hour training session, and so I go through the usual routine, first a hot bath followed by something to eat and then I’d get my head down for a couple of hours, but my sleep was interrupted by some very loud knocking at my front door. I opened the door to find a guy who was trying to deliver some new kitchen equipment. As I looked out and up the garden path his mate was coming down with it on a trolley. I have four steps leading down to my front door and he banged it down every one of them. As he gets to the front door I say to him if it doesn’t work I’ll know why.
“Don’t worry about it man it’s tightly packed” was his reply.
They eventually they bring the stuff through and I ask them if they could unpack it and
also take the packaging with them. The driver had no problems with what I’d asked
them to do but the other guy was moaning about it, he was a tall lean black fella,
we’re not supposed to do this, he was saying to the other guy who just carried
on taking the packaging away. The other guy decided not to take any of the cardboard
and started to walk out with a right strop on, as he walks passed me he looks at me with a stupid half sneer.
“Have you got a problem mate?” I say to him.
“No you got the problem man.”
As he turns around he tells me to fuck off.
SMACK!! A hard fast right hand punch knocks him off the doorstep onto his back and into the plants in the front garden. I have never seen anyone more surprised; the look of absolute disbelief on his face was a picture. I think he was the type of person who rarely had anyone stand up to him let alone bounce a right hander off his chin. I’ll not allow anyone to talk to me like that especially on my own doorstep.
As I go outside to finish him off he was just getting to his feet. He’s in a crouched position leaning forward with his arms waving about in front of him as if he were in a fog. I close in on him and throw a left hook and right upper cut combination; they both missed the target. He must have felt the wind of the upper cut as it went by it was millimeters away from hitting the target. I put so much power into the upper cut I lost my balance and fell backwards over the dustbin. Now he sees his opportunity, he basically falls on top off me and whacks me in the face with a big bunch of keys, which opens a cut over my right eye.
I couldn’t get to my feet because the dustbin was under my legs, bang! He’s caught me again, but his blows lacked any real power, I think that the clump I had given him had taken away most off his strength. I manage to get my foot into his stomach and boot him off; I try to get to my feet but that fucking dustbin is well and truly on his side. He comes for me again but this time as he comes toward me to deliver his attack I manage to catch him with a blow which opened a gash just under his left eye, it unzipped like a purse and a fair amount of his claret began to flow. That gave me the chance to get to my feet, as I get up he does a runner and hurdles the front gate. I was willing to leave it at that but he decided to throw half a brick in my direction and run off, it missed and hit the window frame, which cracked the glass.
For the first time during the whole encounter I completely lost my temper, just inside the hallway on the floor I saw a claw hammer which I had been using to hang some pictures up the day before. I grab the hammer and start to go after him, luckily my wife grabs my arm and as I look up he’s in the van and away. There was some police involvement but we managed to agree to disagree as to what had actually happened and that was that.
Two lessons have been learned.
1. Always put your boots on, I had a really bad cut on the underside of my right foot.
2. Move the dustbin out of the way.
I had received a phone call from John asking if I wanted to work the weekend.
The venue was a pub down in Sunbury where there would be two of us to look after the governor down there. Pete was having the weekend off and so for the first time my back was going to be watched by a total stranger. Obviously the most important thing in this game is being able to trust the person you’re working with. Working with people you don’t know can be very costly. You have no idea how they are going to react when situations get ugly.
And believe me if you decide to work on the door you will have plenty of opportunities
to get into ugly situations. I arrive at the venue with more than a little trepidation, as I open the door I am approached by a tall lean fella with a Kiwi accent.
“Hello mate I’m Chris.” He says in a friendly manner.
My initial level of apprehension was now almost completely gone. Sometimes you meet someone and almost immediately you know whether or not they are up to the job. The pub was unfortunately situated in the middle of a large council estate, it was a traditional old fashioned looking place complete with a smelly threadbare beer stained patterned carpet and a light brown nicotine coated ceiling. The D J was setting up his “disco” equipment which consisted of a turntable which sat upon what looked like a modified ironing board flanked on either side by some D I Y flashing lighting units. The landlord was a short arse mouthy little git and absolutely fitted right in. I don’t know who was worse him or the punters, you would have been hard pressed to find a place with a more concentrated amount of scumbags; it was wall to wall with attitude. You have to use your loaf a bit in places like this if you give one of these punters a slap you’ll probably end up fighting everyone in the pub, what a dump I thought as I looked around. Basically the people that frequented the place just wanted to cause us as much grief as possible, so they could get up to their dubious activities, drug dealing and violence seemed to be the staple diet of these folks.
Nice crowd.
We had nothing too serious to deal with though, just the usual mindless comments that you have heard a hundred times before.
“What are you fucking Bouncers doing in ere”?
“You fink your so fucking ard”
“I’ll av you mate” “I’ll do you up a treat old son”
“You’re a big bloke but that don’t bother me because I know people”.
And my all-time favourite-
“I’ll come back and do you mate, and I’ve got guns as well.”

CHAPTER THREE
The Peacemakers
A couple of days later the office rang me and asked if Pete and I would come down for a chat, they were going to offer us a more permanent venue. The venue was in a very affluent part of west London where you can rub shoulders with the rich and famous. Ironically it was a place we had contacted a while back. It was a beautiful town during the day, with its large picturesque green where tournaments and pageants were held a few centuries ago. Clusters of delightful little Antique shops and cosy little pubs led you down towards the river where the Kings and Queens of England had once made a home for themselves.
After six o’clock once the shops have battened down the hatches for the night, the place takes on a different kind of feeling. Hordes of youngsters and all kinds of weirdo’s come out of the woodwork and descend upon it.
The place we were going to work at was a pleasant looking bar with half a dozen sturdy looking brass lamps hung above the large windows illuminating the name of the place accompanied by a green sunshade above the front doors. We arrived a little early so we decided to go for a coffee in the nearby restaurant to kill some time. After about fifteen minutes we decided to show our faces, Joyce greeted us at the front doors as we arrived; she was a young fair-haired pretty little Scots woman who had been the manager here for the past three years.
There were four of us on that door, two in-house and two front of house. The two other boys Dave and Mark were both very experienced and confident and could definitely handle themselves. The club had an alarm system with strategically placed alarm buttons, one was just inside the front doors on the floor so a discreet tap with your toe would summon the rest of the boys when things were going pear shaped at the front entrance. The other alarm button was up by the D J who incidentally was a right little prima donna. And definitely was more trouble than he was worth. The other thing that annoyed me was that he was on twice as much money as us; it should have been the other way around. Mind you we did used to give him a bit of stick especially if he started to play that r ‘n’ b music. One of the lads had a quiet word with him one night and he seemed to be as good as gold after that. I never found out what was actually said but he was always very well behaved when this particular doorman was around. If I were to hazard a guess as to what was said to him it would be something to do with him his equipment and a large plate glass window. I did feel that the type music that was played was important; it sets the tone of the club thereby attracting a certain type of punter and discouraging another. There was some really good dance music around at the time Robin S, The Nightcrawlers and “Dreamer” by Livinjoy” being my own personal favourite at the time. They all still sound just as good over ten years on.
As you entered the bar on your left was a large L shaped bar with eight t v screens above it, which showed various endless music videos all night long. To the left of the bar was a small dance floor and a little staircase that led you up to a raised platform were the D J was positioned. Straight-ahead was a conservatory area with a pool table plus a large beer garden beyond that. At the time it was the most popular pub in the area with the younger generation. Little did I know when I turned up that first night that I would eventually be the head doorman and stay there for the next four years, experiencing some happy and sad occasions, lots of small fights and some that were pretty rough. I had a few laughs as well though.
Pete and I have been here three months now; we’ve had nothing too serious to contend with so far, it’s just been a lot of verbal… Mark has now gone; he decided to get involved in some close protection work. Eventually he is replaced by Darren a big useless lump who lasted about three weeks. Dave has now moved on which was a shame because we got on well with him; he was a pleasure to work with and was 100% reliable and trustworthy. We get a succession of different guys turning up; the first one was Garry, a nice fella but he was a bit too aggressive at times and lacked the diplomacy you need to have in this line of work. The next one to turn up was Alex, a big Scots lad, a nice bloke and a bit of a hard nut but again aggressive when it wasn’t really necessary. I think they just didn’t give a toss, an example. One lovely warm summer evening we were all on the front doors in shirtsleeve order. The barman comes out to where we were and asks if we could keep an eye on some fella who was acting a little strange and who was also becoming a little bit abusive. He is pointed out and one of the lads asks him to behave, the right response was not forthcoming and he is asked to leave. He refused, Pete grabs one arm and Alex grabs the other and he is thrown out of the door. I am outside in my usual position and the guy goes flying past me from a really hard shove off the step, the other two lads go back to their positions just inside the door.
The guy who’s been thrown out looks like a right nutter, I was looking for his banjo; he looked like an extra from “Deliverance”. He stands there staring at me from about five or six feet away, teeth clenched with his chin jutting out, his neck stretched to its limit with his eyes bulging looking at me from an obscure angle. That’s ok I don’t mind, eyes cannot hurt you and he is outside my exclusion zone. The exclusion zone meant that I imagine a circle of about four feet in circumference around me, anyone entering that is in perfect kicking range. He hasn’t entered it yet and so doesn’t present a problem at the moment. I say to him, on your bike mate we don’t want any trouble now do we? No reply and no movement. He just kept staring at me with that mental expression on his face. I thought that he’ll get fed up with this after a while and disappear of his own accord. However Alex had other ideas and sticks his head out of the doorway and says in a broad Scots accent.
“Are you still here”? “If you don’t fuck off I’ll batter you all around the fucking street”.
Here we go I thought, and this time we did get a reply.
“Fuck off you Scots git”.
Alex’s hairy forearm flashes past my nose; his fist was on a direct collision course with the guy’s skull. It sounded like a cricket ball hitting a coconut when it struck.
He goes down flat on his back and almost immediately jumps up again and looks straight at me; he lets out a scream, just like in those war films when the Army is doing bayonet training. AAAARRRRGH !
He comes charging at me, I remained as relaxed as possible until he entered the “zone” once that had been breached I released the mother of all front kicks. He ran straight into it there by doubling the effect of the kick. My right boot connected perfectly with his stomach giving him the full treatment, the force of the kick literally bent him in two.
His feet left the ground and he was airborne and heading backward in the direction he had just come from. Landing about five feet away on his back, for the second time tonight, he was winded dazed and confused when we got to him; he was then put into two very painful arm locks. Unluckily for him a copper just happened to be passing and asks our mate on the floor.
“What are you going to do if these nice gentlemen release you?”
The idiots reply was-
“I’m going to fight them.”
He was then given a nice pair of bracelets to wear and was thrown into the back of a waiting police van. The copper came back about an hour later and said that he had to let him go because he started to cry and promised to go home. I had always got on well with the local constabulary…usually. We were at the front doors one evening in our usual places when a guy comes out from the bar and informs us that some fella whilst in the middle of a game of pool has placed a large lock knife on the side of the table. I think that there was a few quid on the game and so he was trying to intimidate the other guy. We go in and whilst one of the other lads talks to the guy to distract him I quickly snatch the knife from the table. He is then thrown out, once outside he asks for the knife back. We told him to fuck off and if he didn’t like it he could go to the old bill. Unbelievably he did, and about an hour later three stroppy little w pc’s turn up demanding that we hand the knife over as we had committed a theft and further more if it was not handed over one of us will be arrested. We couldn’t believe what we were hearing, what did they want us to do, just let the guy walk out with a fucking great knife in his pocket. They didn’t want to listen to anything I had to say they just kept demanding that the knife be returned immediately. I didn’t have the knife anyway as one of the supervisors from the security company turned up just before the police arrived and so I gave it to him to take back to the office as a souvenir from sunnyWest London. They didn’t believe what I was saying and gave us 24 hours to return the knife to the Police station if not they would be back to arrest someone. What a load of old bollocks. The next evening I collected the knife from the office and went to the police station to talk to someone in authority, to see if I could get someone to make sense of the situation. I spoke to the Sargent on duty, his attitude was completely different, he thanked me for taking the knife off the guy and assured me that when the guy turns up to collect it he will be arrested for carrying an offensive weapon. I suppose we got the right result in the end.