Clubbing: Part VI

(Story begins here.)

``Thanks Moe,'' Isaac said as he took the pad and pen from him and started to scribble down the things that were just said. The hangover migraine that had been plaguing him for the whole morning had dulled itself down to the point of being barely noticeable; Isaac wasn't sure if it was a sign of his brain trying to reduce the distractions as he was trying to figure out the puzzle that could lead to him leading a free life once again, or that the brandy was doing its thing.

``Hey Moe,'' Isaac said once he had enough things scribbled down. ``Any idea of the guys that I was `acting aggressively' to?''

``Shit, that's complicated,'' Moe said as he rubbed his head and walked back to behind his desk to take a seat. ``Like I said, there were quite a few of them, not all of them regulars too mind you, who wanted to dance with that chick, but you were acting like some kind of pissed off boyfriend or something. Well, wait, fuck, hold on... there's this one guy that I'm sure is a regular... right! I remember. Barcelli. Italian dude. He approached her and you sort of got in the way and threatened him. I think he threatened you back before walking away. That guy's a douche, but we can never seem to throw him out. Dude's got like some kind of mafia connection or something. Always causing trouble. Come to think of it, maybe he's the one who got you in this shit. Got a motive here, right?''

Isaac nodded his head slowly as he wrote down the word `Barcelli' in the legal pad.

``I know you're gonna ask me, `where can I find him?', and truth is, I have no fucking idea. But that's as much as I can remember. Only reason why I remembered Barcelli was because the bouncer was getting one of bus boys to get me from the office to keep an eye out due to the longer-than-usual confrontation time... that bugger didn't want to deal with Barcelli on his own `without the manager's approval' or so he claims. Fucking wimpy pussy...'' Moe said as he took in a deep breath. ``Oh by the way, take the pad and pen with you. I don't want to have any easy evidence left behind. Some how I think you will need all the paper you have to figure out how to get out of this mess. And that's all I have for you. Shit, I hope you get out of this mess by not being involved... anyway, I got you a cab that should be waiting outside. Take it and go wherever you need to go, and for fuck's sake, don't tell me anything about it. As far as I know, we didn't have this conversation. Once more, good luck.''

``Hey Moe, thanks so much. I owe you one,'' Isaac said as he got up to shake Moe's hand.

``Fucking right you do. Now get out of here before the cops show up.''

Clubbing: Part V

(Story begins here.)

Isaac looked at Moe once again, his hungover brain slowly making sense of what was going on. Moe was telling him, in his sort of way, that he was going to give him some slack, and would be willing to corroborate with his statement by not trying to actively hinder or assist in the investigation. He nodded his head at Moe at the final understanding, as he uncapped the brandy and took a swig from it. The liquid fire burned as it gushed down his oesophagus, but in its wake it left a warm almost reassuring glow. When it finally settled down in his stomach, Isaac could feel as though his migraine had slipped off away, and that his mind was starting to process things more normally.

``Well?'' Moe said, eyeballing Isaac with an air of expectation. ``What's your next step, Isaac?''

Isaac frowned a little as he tried to get his brain to think of the alternatives. There was something quite off in the narrative that Moe had told him, but he didn't quite get it. At least not at first. After a few more seconds of grinding through what he heard, he finally got it.

``Moe, where did they find the body?''

``Thought you'd never ask,'' Moe grinned as he took the bottle of brandy from Isaac and took a swig of it himself. ``I see you are starting to come back to the world of the less stupid. Welcome back. Anyway, the answer to your question. She was found about three blocks north of here, in a dumpster that was in the alleyway about a block after that `fusion' Irish pizza/pub place. Dumpster's a pretty standard one, unlocked, and that's why she could fit in. If you are thinking of heading out there right this instance, well, I wouldn't if I were you. That's where the cops are swarming right about now.''

``Yes Moe, I'm not that stupid...''

``Hell, how the fuck would I know?'' Moe said as he shrugged his shoulders. ``Drunk idiots always do idiotic things, no matter how smart they were before getting drunk.''

Isaac ignored that dig and thought a little more. The seconds passed on by slowly, their passage unemotionally tracked by the loud ticking of the analogue wall clock hanging just at the wall that backed Moe's work chair. Then it hit him---he hadn't actually figured out who the girl was.

``Moe, something isn't right. You didn't tell me how the girl looks like.''

``The girl they found? Shit man, I thought you knew. Well, platinum blonde-like, great tits, was wearing some kind of black sleeveless number. White girl, lips with really red lip-stick. Heels I think? Can't remember the colour since I never really got to stare beyond her lovely ass and legs, the very things that were causing almost every other straight man within a twenty feet radius want to approach her for a dance, something that you were somehow trying to fend off with your aggressionn or something.''

Isaac frowned again, and he found that his headache was fast returning. There was no way that he could remember all these things, yet somehow he knew that knowing what they were could be a matter between life and death.

``You got a piece of paper and a pen for me to take notes, Moe?'' Isaac asked as he massaged his temples.

``Yeah, of course,'' Moe replied, grabbing the legal pad from the table and a random plastic Bic ball-point pen and chucked both of them to Isaac. ``Here, write them all down before you forget.''

(Story continues here.

Clubbing: Part IV

(Story begins here.)

``Okay... but what has this got to do with me?'' Isaac asked.

``What has this got to do with you?'' Moe replied, his eyes wide open in horror. ``What the hell do you mean by `what has this got to do with me'? Dude, the girl who died, you were making your moves all over her, becoming all fucking defensive over her like she's your property or something. Each time another dude tried to dance with her, you were charging in like she's your girlfriend and was this close to literally beating up the dude who tried to come close. She didn't seem as though she minded the attention you were giving her, and everyone there could tell that something was going on between you and her. Hell, even the DJ had to tell remind the bouncer I had around last night to keep an eye out on you in case you went postal and hurt someone.

``I didn't keep track of when the hell you left, or for that matter, when the hell she left. I think most people remember seeing you and her in the club, and then, no one could remember seeing you and her in the club. In other words, Isaac, if you cannot remember what the hell happened, you have basically a CLUB full of people who are willing to testify that you have been at the club with her and developing more than a passing interest. And now that she's been found clubbed, you are going to be suspect number one.''

Isaac heard Moe's words with stoicism. Hangover migraine notwithstanding, he finally understood why Moe thought it expedient to get him to drop by and have a chat with him. A sick feeling was starting to manifest itself within the stomach of Isaac; he felt like he had to throw up.

``So man, Isaac, do you have any fucking idea what happened between the time you were here and when you got back home? If I were you, I'd find out an explanation of some sort, whether or not it is a real one, because right now, nothing is pointing in a good direction for you.''

Isaac looked at Moe. The owner of the Prancing Princess Club was staring intently at him, his eyes full of concern and fear for his friend. It was starting to be clear to Isaac just how grave the situation was. He trembled uncontrollably and felt a swoon coming on. Moe suddenly pulled his drawer open and grabbed a brandy before thrusting it at Isaac.

``Here, have some of this while you think. Now let me tell you more stuff that I know. The cops have found her body, but they haven't found the murder weapon. They had been claiming that the injuries were consistent with being slugged by something large and blunt, and the last I've heard, they were appealling to witnesses to the crime. They haven't come round to me yet, but when they do, they will immediately start for you. So, Isaac,'' Moe continued, slowing down and articulating his words to ensure Isaac could understand completely, ``now that you know the score, I hope you will go back home and look carefully at the things you have and see if you have evidence of any sort that you did the clubbing or not. This is as much as I can help you.''

``Also, you don't have to tell me anything about what you found out. The less I know, the less I can talk to the cops about.''

(Story continues here.

Clubbing: Part III

(Story begins here.)

``Jesus... what took you so long? Did you see any cops coming after you?'' Moe asked quickly as his eyes darted about before closing the heavy club doors behind both of them. Isaac didn't answer immediately, he was taken aback at how the club looked like during the day when it was open only for book-keeping and other business-related work like a thorough cleaning of the entire club from top to bottom. The bright fluorescent lights overhead provided the harsh light of reality over the place that Isaac was sure signified the paradise of fantasy just the night before. It also dawned upon him that he was still hungover and the bright fluorescent lights were triggering a severe case of photophobia.

``Owww Moe... must you keep these bright lights on?''

``Bright lights? Oh damn, you're hungover from last night? Shit man, I didn't realise you were THAT gone. Come on, let's talk in my office. It's quieter and has a place for you to sit that is out of the way of the guys I have to clean and tidy up the place. Isaac followed Moe closely as the latter led the way to the back office behind the DJ's podium, all the while averting his eyes from the lights with an arm or two ahead attempting to provide extra shielding. Moe pulled out a key from his pocket and unlocked his door quietly before allowing Isaac to stumble through and collapse on a pillowed chair.

The blinds in the office were let down, and they were definitely of a sturdier quality than the one's that he had at home, since they blocked out the sunlight in a more effective manner. Moe switched on the desk lamp, and it's orange-yellow glow provided just enough illumination in the room to make it easy to see while not keeping it bright enough to hurt the eye or the brain.

Moe pulled up a chair in front of his work desk and set it in front of Isaac such the the back rest was facing Isaac. Moe sat himself on the chair, resting his chin on his arms which rested on the back of the chair and looked hard at Isaac.

``You have no idea what you did last night?''

``For the last time Moe, yes! I have no idea what I did last night. Can you now please tell me what happened that made you hurry me to get my ass out here to you in spite of my hangover?''

``Isaac, a girl was found dead. Someone saw her leave the club.''

``Dead?'' Isaac said, his blood frozen.

``Yes. Clubbed to death.''

(Story continues here.

Clubbing: Part II

(Story begins here.)

``Hey Moe, what the hell do you mean?''

``You mean you can't fucking remember? Jesus... look, can you get to my club as soon as you can? I want to get hold of you before the cops do.''

``Cops?'' Isaac repeated dumbly, his body suddenly turning cold.

``Yeah, cops. Jesus, I can't believe you can't remember a thing. Just get your ass here as soon as you can, okay? For now, you are not in any danger, but who the hell knows how long it is going to stay that way.''

``Okay Moe. I owe you one.''

``Damn right you do.'' The line went dead and Isaac slammed the phone down. He tried remembering more of what happened last night as he put his clothes on to get to Moe's, but was drawing nothing but a blank and a migraine.

Five minutes and an aspirin later, Isaac was out on the sidewalk flagging a cav. He was lucky to catch one almost immediately after flagging and got in mouthing ``Prancing Princess Club'' before teh driver even had the chance to say hello and good morning. Sensing the urgency from his charge, the driver tipped his hat and sped off towards Moe's club.

As the taxi weaved through the heavy traffic, Isaac tried wracking his brains to remember what had happened. Like his previous efforts, it drew only a blank, other than the loud thumping music, the free flow of booze, and the hot gyrating women.

`Come on man, think. Moe said it might end up with the cops, and the sooner you can remember, the easier to plan for that eventuality.' Isaac thought to himself. It was still like beofre, to no avail. He gave up trying and just looked out of the window to take in the sights. He had taken the taxicab before, of course, but he was never in the position where he could just sit to look at the sights. To be had, he didn't have the time here as well, but seeing as his memory was still failing at the recall, he might as well take in the scenery that was present.

Half an hour later, the taxicab pulled out at the ``Prancing Princess Club''. Isaac snapped out of his ennui and hurriedly tossed a fifty to the driver and told him to keep the change before bounding up the stairs of the club.

Moe opened the door hastily and beckoned him to hurry up.

(Story continues here.)

Clubbing: Part I

The day had come early. Too early as far as Isaac can tell. He groaned as he opened up his bloodshot eyes against the early morning sun filtering through the blinds of his window. He cursed under his breath as he tried turning away while rubbing his temples in a bid to rid himself of the hangover.

It had been a wild night at the club. The music boomed, the booze flowed freely and the beautiful women gyrating their hips all night long. Isaac was there, absorbing the music, guzzling the booze, and grinding the women, only he wasn't known as Isaac, leastways not at the club. John, a regular and more manly sounding name than Isaac. Under his breath, he cursed his now dead parents for deciding to call him by the most useless-sounding name ever.

The sun's omnipotent rays penetrated through his cover, warming him up considerably---that did not help his hangover headache much. Swearing loudly, Isaac suddenly sat upright and felt his head throbbing uncontrollably. He looked about him, his mind still in a stupor. He was glad that there was no strange woman in his bed, something that had happened before that was particularly embarassing because he handd't remembered her name, causing her to slap him once before stomping off in a huff.

Gathering whatever thoughts he had (and could) Isaac finally got out of bed. By then the sun had already permeated through his entire room, and there was nothing else that he could do. He could have shuttered the blinds, but they still allowed the orange glow in, which was as bad as having bright sunlight in. He had been thinking of getting better curtains, but could never bring himself to do so.

Isaac made his way slowly to his bathroom, his headache slowly ebbing away. He turned on the tap and just let the running water flow from the tap and through his outstretched palms for a while. The cool water was refreshing, but he was waiting for the freezing water instead. When that came along, he splashed it liberally all over his face. Instantly, he was awake as the freezing water constricted the fiery blood vessels in his eye and cooled off the flush he was feeling. He lingered on a bit before retrieving his toothbrush and toothpaste from the mirror cabinet and proceeded to brush his teeth.

Just as he got to the final rinse, he could hear the phone ringing incessantly. Cursing once again, he quickly rinsed off and dried his face with the towel before grabbing the phone on the table.

``Jesus Isaac, where the hell were you? You sure fucked it up bad this time.'' It was Moe, Isaac's friend at the club. The owner, really.

Wait, did Moe said he fucked it up bad this time? Whatever could he mean?

(Story continues here.)