The Commander Ch. 07

Melanie, our greeter, picked up the tray with our valuables, and put it behind her. "Ladies and gentleman," she explained, "cell phones are not permitted in this club. We will lock them away securely for you, and you can retrieve them when you leave."

"Why?" Jocelyn asked.

"No pictures allowed in the club," I answered for Melanie.

"That's right, sir."

She grabbed a lock box from a shelf behind her, put our three cell phones in, locked it, pushed the lock box through a tiny rectangular tunnel into another room, and gave me a red plastic chit. Once we cleared physical security with my watch and keys returned, Melanie asked for our names and identification. Fiona and Jocelyn didn't have identification with them -- that was OK as long as I did. I showed them my driver's license. Melanie held it under a scanner, and returned it to me, and typed the girls' first names into a keyboard at her reception station in between lots of mouse clicks.

"Why do they want our names?" Fiona asked me in a hush.

I circled my finger, pointing at the dozen or so cameras all around this little room. "Face recognition system," I answered without trying to lower my voice. "They don't recognize us, so they know we've never been here before."

"What about Jocelyn -- won't she leave a record behind?"

"It's only her first name, and they only have my last name -- I think we're okay." Fiona nodded slowly as she processed all of this.

"So, the next time we come back ..."

"Before you even say hello, they will know your name, everyone you came with, and when, for every time you ever came here."

"Wow," Fiona mused.

"This will just take a moment, sir," Melinda said to me. We all waited for about thirty seconds more, and then we heard a faint beep from her computer.

Melinda typed something on her keybaord, and then smiled. "Mr. Terrance, the door entry fee is $75 per person. That will be $225 please."

I handed her my credit card.

"Andrei wasn't kidding," Fiona snorted.

Melinda processed the credit card and handed it back to me with a signature slip and a pen. As she took back the signed receipt, Melinda smiled "Beth will take you to your table now."

"What just happened?" Fiona asked.

"They took my money," I answered plainly -- I didn't see what else she was getting at.

"No, before that -- we waited for a while before she even asked for your credit card."

"They ran my driver's licence through a criminal record database."

"Are you serious?" Fiona asked in near disbelief.

"It certainly seems they are," I smiled to Melinda.

"Yes," Melinda assured, "the next time you come here, it will take a lot less time to check in. Oh, and for the ladies," Melinda explained like a flight attendant reviewing the pre-flight safety rules, "when you come back here again, you absolutely must bring valid government ID with you. You are allowed a one-time pass with a registered client, which you have just used with Mr. Terrance. We only need your ID the one time -- the next time you come here. After that, we will have you in our system."

The two tuxedo refrigerators opened the doors from the interior reception into the real club, and Beth led us through.

As we walked into the club, Jocelyn leaned over to me, and said "We could just register Fiona and then I could come in her place."

"I realized that right away," I agreed. "There is always a crack in every system."

Inside it was a club like many other clubs, with a few subtle differences. I am used to Fiona and Jocelyn being the most stunning women in the room. I would say they were only just above par in this club, but you would never catch me saying in front of them. Second, the security hardware inside this club was non-existent -- I couldn't see any cameras, although there were mirrors behind bars, where some cameras could be hidden. But no overhead cameras -- anywhere. I thought about that, and I realized with the security outside, they don't need cameras inside. More importantly to staying in business, I was willing to bet solid money there are all sorts of things that go on in this place every night that participants never want recorded on video. Thus the confiscation of cell phones at the door. Speaking of security, I saw the odd walking refrigerator wearing a tuxedo standing along the outside walls, but not nearly enough to control a crowd should things turn ugly. That surprised me. Finally, there was a higher waitress-to-customer ratio than in most clubs (I learned later they are called hostesses), and they were exceptionally well trained to magically appear at your table the instant you wanted something, but to leave you in peace at all other times.

While Andrei was able to reserve us a table, he didn't have enough pull to reserve us a nicer booth along a wall. They were on an elevated mezzanine about five feet above the main floor along two opposite walls. I noticed some empty booths. I am guessing a place like this always keeps a few tables and booths in check, for circumstances just like ours, when a last minute reservation comes in from a high value guest or from their valued supply chain, like Andrei.

As Beth showed us our table in the middle of the floor, I asked her if we could have one of the elevated booths along the wall. She informed me those were all reserved. I gave Beth a hundred dollar bill in tip, and asked her if she could check if a booth just became available. She smiled and said she could see what she could do. A minute later, a manager named Lake arrived and said he understood we had a concern about our table. Two more one hundred dollar bills later, we had our booth.

The booths rested on a walkway about five feet above the rest of the club. From here we could easily scan across the whole room. Fiona sat next to the wall, and I sat beside her. Jocelyn sat across from us. Our hostess, Jessica, arrived immediately and asked what we would like to drink. I asked for a single malt scotch -- she handed me a 40 page wine list, which included about a hundred scotches. While I looked at the scotch list, Fiona ordered a glass of white Chardonnay, and so did Jocelyn. I told Jessica to hold on -- let's order a bottle. I found a Bouchard Père et Fils Meursault Perrières 2006 Chardonnay, and I ordered a Glenmorangie Ealanta scotch, neat, for myself. Our first round of drinks cost $500, and that was on the cheap side of the drink list Jessica gave to me.

A wine steward arrived to open our bottle and asked who would taste it. I wasn't drinking it, so Fiona decided she would. He poured a sip, and Fiona said okay after a taste. The steward poured out two glasses for Fiona and Jocelyn, then he set the remaining bottle into an ice bucket beside the table. While he did that, Jessica brought my scotch and took my credit card -- I told her to hold on to it and run a tab.

When the wine steward and Jessica left us alone again, Jocelyn lifted her glass up in cheers and said "Toto, I don't think we're in the one percent anymore." We tapped our glasses to each other's, and sipped.

"Enjoy it while you can," I offered. "I can't afford this every week."

"Holy shit," Fiona uttered, looking out to the dance floor. Jocelyn and I turned to see what Fiona was looking at. Near the dead center of the crowded dance floor, where it was impossible to continuously observe people, I could the catch occasional, brief glimpse of several girls who had gone topless, and at least two of them were squatting down and fellating their dance partners. I probably stared too long only because it was so hard to see anything.

"Hey Big Boy," Fiona interrupted me, "I'm over here." Fiona put her hand on my thigh -- I looked toward her -- she kissed me with an open mouth while she moved her hand to my crotch and massaged my cock through my pants to an instant hard-on. She pulled her lips away, but continued massaging my pocket rocket, and with sparkling, mischievous eyes, Fiona mouthed those words again "Tonight's gonna be a good night ..."

"Let's dance," Jocelyn announced. Without a word, Fiona started shuffling sideways in her booth seat, bumping up against me in the booth, so I slid sideways and stood up to let Fiona out.

"You coming?" Fiona asked.

"Try stopping me," I smiled. Jocelyn took the lead, Fiona behind her. Fiona held my hand behind her back, and the three of us traipsed a line to the dance floor.

We started dancing as a trio on the edge of the dance floor. It took us a while to get our rhythm, but within a couple of minutes I felt like we had joined a collective harmony. Jocelyn took opportunities to move closer to the middle of the dance floor, which I preferred -- it is better than dancing on the edge of the floor. Fiona and I followed each time Jocelyn sashayed into an opening closer to the center.

We found a good spot about a third of the way to the center -- there seemed to be a pocket here where we could just relax and enjoy the music beat. Fiona and I kissed for about a minute while we continued dancing and Jocelyn danced close by. Fiona pulled away, turned to Jocelyn, and they kissed for a few minutes. As they pulled away, I completed the triangle by kissing Jocelyn as we danced.

As I was kissing Jocelyn, I saw a big, tall man -- maybe six feet-four, glide behind Fiona, and he took her around her waist and started dancing his front to her back. I pulled away from Jocelyn and looked at Fiona's face -- she looked at me and smiled -- she was okay. So Jocelyn and I continued dancing, and between us, we kept an eye on Fiona. Fiona and tall-boy drifted slowly away from us. Just when I was thinking that was far enough, without warning, tall-boy raised his hands and cupped Fiona's breasts from behind. I saw Fiona jab both elbows back hard, spun around, and yelled something at him I couldn't hear. I disengaged from Jocelyn, and moved to intercept tall-boy. There were maybe a dozen people between me and Fiona -- it took me five seconds to reach her. As I closed the distance, I watched Tall-boy advance on Fiona, and she tried to backpedal, but there were too many people dancing behind her. He was instantly upon her and saying something.

When at last I reached Fiona -- I stepped sideways with my back to Fiona and forced my body between Fiona and tall-boy. Now face-to-face with tall-boy, I put my left hand on his chest, pushed against him forcefully, and held my right index finger up to his face, and wagged my finger side to side, as in no-no-no. My only purpose in doing this was to put distance between tall-boy and me -- the right index finger waggle was to distract him from realizing I just shoved tall-boy back three feet. Tall-boy was considerably taller and bigger than me, and looked a lot stronger, and I was at a disadvantage in a bear-hug contest. Give me one arm's length separation, and I could take him down in two seconds.

Combat training I hadn't used in over twelve years instinctively flashed back to me. Tall-boy brought a fist to my left shoulder, but I saw it coming. I blocked his attempt with my left arm as I started pivoting on my left foot, doubling my leverage available to drive the heel of my right hand hard in and up against the base of tall-boy's sternum. I was going to snap his zyphoid process -- a sharp piece of internal cartilage -- off his rib cage and drive it into his diaphragm. It wouldn't kill him, but it would inflict such excruciating pain that it would give me time to step back and kick his knees out. It was a highly effective, non-lethal, in-close combat maneuver when confronted by an unarmed opponent much bigger than you.

Unfortunately, I did all my training and combat in Don's body. Jet's muscle memory was all wrong, and my combat instincts couldn't adapt to Jet's body shape, coordination, strength, and timing. My initial block was too slow and sloppy, and before I knew it, tall-boy connected his right fist against my left shoulder. The impact of his hand on my shoulder stalled my pivot, causing the heel of my right hand to glance harmlessly off the side of tall-boy's rib cage. Tall-boy's left hand came down hard on my right should, and he started to push me down with so much force that I completely lost balance in mid pivot. I had to regroup my feet, which forced me to lower my center of gravity even more. I found myself at a grave disadvantage -- my head was now at tall-boy's chest level and he started leaning over top of me, pushing down with considerably more force than before. At any moment now he would smash his right arm down on the back of my neck with a decisive blow. I had maybe half a second before I was going to the floor. My lower position offered me one good shot at his nuts. Crouching down as I was, my legs were useless, so I drew my left fist back and swung a vertical roundhouse upwards into tall-boy's groin. To my astonishment, I hit tall-boy with so much force that I drove both his feet right off the ground, and then his feet kept going up, up, up, and he lost contact on my shoulder.

Confused at this impossible outcome, I remained crouched, because standing up would expose too many vital parts to a counterattack. When tall-boy's feet didn't come back down, I looked up, and there I saw tall-boy suspended by two tuxedo refrigerators -- one on either side -- who had grabbed him by the arms and lifted him straight up -- twenty inches off the ground. Tall-boy started thrashing his feet and was kicking me, but I didn't sidestep the blows, because I knew Fiona was behind me, and I was preventing her from taking the brunt of his damage.

I heard one of the refrigerators yell "settle down or die." I think that's what he said -- the music was loud and I was in maximum adrenaline mode. Whatever he said, the kicking stopped. I thought back a moment -- it took me five seconds to make it through 12 people to reach Fiona -- there was no way these two tuxedo refrigerators could have make it here from the edge of the room. Something wasn't adding up.

Another booming male voice behind me interrupted my thoughts. "Is there a problem, miss?" I stood up straight and spun around, and was dumbfounded to see two more tuxedo refrigerators flanking Fiona. Where the fuck did these guys come from?

"KEEP THAT FUCKING ASSHOLE AWAY FROM MY TITS!" Fiona yelled, pointing at tall-boy.

"That's all!" I heard one of the refrigerators say, and I watched three tuxedos carry tall-boy out of the club like he was toothless poodle. One tuxedo remained on station with Fiona.

I asked Fiona if she was okay -- she nodded yes. Next I moved back to where I left Jocelyn -- she was confused but otherwise fine.

We decided to go back to our table and regroup. It was a few minutes past one o'clock. Within a minute of sitting down, a man in a business suit arrived at our table.

"Mr. Terrance?" he asked me.

"Yes."

"I am Brian Winchell, general manger of Left Hand Spankies." He paused. "I understand there was just an incident on the dance floor that involved you and one of your friends."

"You're fucking right there was!" Fiona yelled back for me. She was sitting against the wall to my right. Brain was standing to my left, so I wasn't able to see both Fiona and Brian at the same time. I kept my attention on Brian.

"Madam, I sincerely apologize for what happened. This is a very rare event at Spankies, and I am truly sorry you had to suffer through any part of that regrettable event." I actually believed him, but I didn't say anything.

"Sir, and ladies," Brian continued, "as a gesture of my deep apologies, I have waived the cost of all your drinks for this evening."

"That's a start," I answered.

"Sir," Brian answered, "by any chance, are you staying in a hotel nearby?" I told him we're staying at the Broadleaf Spa.

"Very good sir -- could I send something to your room there?"

"I like Dom Perignon, 1992."

"I'll have a case sent to your room immediately, sir."

"And some nice Chardonnay," Fiona added. Brain looked at the ice bucket beside the table.

"Madam, are you satisfied with the bottle you are drinking now?"

"Yes," Fiona answered.

"I'll have a case of that delivered to your room without delay." He paused. "Can I do anything else for you?"

"Got any good weed?" Jocelyn asked.

"I regret, madam, that is beyond my authority."

"Forget it, then," shrugged Jocelyn.

"Ladies and gentleman, if it is any consolation, I have placed that man on our watch list -- effective immediately, he is forever banned from this establishment." Not only did I believe that, I was absolutely certain he could enforce that ban without fail.

"If there is nothing else for now, I will leave my card with you," he said as he handed his business card to each one of us. "I want to make this very clear. If there is anything else you need -- anything at all that I can provide at any time," he said looking at Fiona," please do not hesitate to call me."

"Thank you," I said, and Brian turned and walked away.

"You okay?" Jocelyn asked Fiona.

"Yeah, I'm fine. He didn't hurt me."

I started rubbing my knees where tall-boy had kicked me -- I would have some bruises, but there was no serious damage. As I massaged my legs, I looked out to the dance floor where the skirmish just happened, and then I smiled. I rebuked myself for not noticing it before. Looking at the hundreds of dancing bodies, I now counted four massive tuxedos -- and that was just among the dancers I could see on this side of the floor. They "danced" slowly, even ponderously, to conserve energy. Hide the razor toothed guard dogs among the sheep -- it was one of the oldest tricks in the book. I was disappointed in myself for not noticing that before. But that disappointment was nothing compared to the anger I had for myself for not handling that situation properly.

"Jet," Jocelyn interrupted my thoughts, "what the fuck did you think you were doing?"

"I think I'll call that an attempt at saving Fiona," I replied, privately cursing myself for a mission gone bad.

"I didn't even see what happened -- next think I know, you're knocking people over to get to Fiona."

"He wasn't right beside me?" Fiona asked.

"No," Jocelyn continued. "you and Dance Moves there got away from us. I had even lost you for a moment -- you were half the way across the dance floor -- then Jet is knocking people out of his way like bowling pins making a bee line for you, and then he stands up to Dance Moves and shoves him backwards, away from you, and the Jet gets all into his face." I didn't remember knocking anyone over, but I confess I might have.

Looking at me, Fiona said "You got in between us so fast, I just figured you were right next to me." People's recollection of stressful events is like that -- time gets compressed.

Fiona changed her voice to mock a bad actress. "You saved me!" as she exaggerated a swoon with the back of her hand on her forehead. Then Fiona kissed a peck on my cheek. I smiled. I wasn't in the mood to confess to a botched mission if she thinks I saved her.

More seriously now, Fiona continued, "so ... you ran over to me and put yourself between me and that dude?" I nodded. "What would you have done if those big guys hadn't shown up?"

"Whatever it takes," I said forcefully, which in truth probably meant crumpling into an unconscious heap on the floor.

Fiona obviously didn't see it that way, because this time she tenderly held my face in her hands and kissed me on the mouth. "I'm getting into the habit of thanking you," she said quietly.

We went silent for a moment. "That champagne he is delivering to our room," asked Jocelyn, "how much does it cost?"

"We ordered one bottle on our Paris river cruise," I answered. "It was a thousand dollars."

"Oh my God -- we have a whole case of it!" Fiona did the math. "That's twelve thousand dollars!"

"And what about the Chardonnay?" asked Jocelyn.