The First Night

The First Night

A Chapter by Jason van Dongen
"

The first night on the job ends with a twist.

"

Ian took a second to adjust his shirt in the reflection of the window. The instructions regarding his work clobber had been simple. The pants had to be neat and black, and the shirt had to be white. The cut of the shirt he had chosen off the rack seemed to broaden his neck and shoulders, lending him the appearance of a young bull. That worked for him. Perhaps the punters would steer clear of the bull for fear of the horns.

Ian climbed the stairs to the nightclub. If he was pressed, he would have admitted to being a little embarrassed to be working here tonight. It was the weekend. He should be reaching into his pocket, not reaching out for rent money. With a bit of luck, nobody from the gym would see him working.

As Ian entered the dimly lit club, he scanned the room for Jonathan, the owner and manager of the club. He had less than a sterling reputation, but having met him at the job interview, Ian thought the rumours unjust.

He spotted Jonathan behind the bar, stocking a fridge with bottles. He sauntered over to the bar, and waited for Jonathan to notice him.

Jonathan greeted Ian cheerily when he saw him. He leaned over the bar so as to be heard over the thumping music.

“Go talk to Frenchy. Head of security.” Jonathan pointed across the club to a man dressed similarly to Ian. For someone in his profession, Frenchy was not exceptionally tall, but then again, neither was Ian. Ian wandered over.

“Hey. Ian, is it?”

Ian nodded.

“Ian, you’ll be at the top of the stairs tonight. Just make sure everyone pays and gets a stamp. If they’ve got a stamp, they can come and go. No stamp? They pay, or they leave.”

Ian nodded again.

Standing at the top of a flight of stairs in a nightclub held more promise than his last job. Being a carpenter’s labourer had bored him to distraction, and there are only so many times a man can be expected to sweep up sawdust.

After an hour or so, checking for stamps was becoming routine, so Ian started studying faces. He tried to pick the punters that were likely to cause him trouble towards the end of the night. He soon realised that the best he could do was guess. As a boxer, he had learned there are many factors that led to someone losing their cool. He also knew from his own childhood that those who had been raised in a violent environment were more likely to turn to violence, and there was no way of reading that history in a punter’s face.

It was nearing dawn when Jonathan signalled the deejay to play the last song of the night. It was a mellow track, far removed from the thumping dance music the deejay had been spinning. The overhead lights came on, announcing to one and all it was time to go home.

People slowly melted from the club, leaving behind a dance floor scattered with bottle tops. Empty and half empty drinks lined the tables. After the thumping music, the silence was deafening.

“What are you drinking, Ian?” Jonathan asked.

Ian had not expected the night to end with free drinks, but he quickly recovered from his surprise and ordered a premixed vodka drink.

“Anyone checked the dunnies?” asked Frenchy. There was a universal groan amongst the staff. “Ian, you’ve got the honours. Check the toilets to make sure nobody has passed out back there.”

Ian put his drink on a nearby table, and made his way to the bathrooms at the back of the club. The females’ bathroom needed a good clean, but was otherwise empty. Ian opened the door to the males’ bathroom expecting the same.

A young woman lay unconscious on the bathroom floor, face down in a puddle of vomit.

“Frenchy, I may need some help back here,” Ian called. “There’s a chick passed out in the gent’s.”

Ian gently shook the young lady by the shoulder in an attempt to rouse her. Her skin was cool to the touch.

“Lady…” Ian said. “Lady…” He shook her a little more vigorously, but got no response. The woman’s head lolled to the side. Ian leapt back, startled. Her eyes. Unseeing. Unknowing. Dead.

Frenchy walked into the bathroom. It took him only a second to comprehend that the young woman was dead. He swore loudly.

“Jono, call the cops… we have a dead chick in our club!”

Jonathan laughed.

“Jono, I’m f*****g serious. Call the f*****g cops!”



© 2013 Jason van Dongen


Author's Note

Jason van Dongen
Please review.

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Reviews

"Clobber" "punter" and "dunnies" are new terms to me, an American. Their meanings are clear from the context, so they add a nice flavor. And I like the name "Frenchy." These are details that give the setting texture.

I am very curious to find out more about Ian's personality, circumstances and history. You've given enough to go on for this chapter and left me wanting more. I am looking forward to the unraveling of this story.

I hope you have not abandoned Ajax, though.

Posted 10 Years Ago



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Added on October 14, 2013
Last Updated on October 14, 2013
Tags: murder, nightclub, club, bouncer


Author

Jason van Dongen
Jason van Dongen

Albany, Western Australia, Australia



About
As a writer, I am strictly a bumbling amateur, writing largely for my own pleasure. I am currently working to improve my story-telling skills, reduce the cliches in my work, and find creative ways to .. more..

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