‘Listen, the sooner we get to the bottom of this the sooner you can go home,’ the sergeant calmly but firmly demands. ‘Thick Mick, why did you hit the bouncer?’
‘You’ve got a nerve arresting us’ Thick Mick mutters back. ‘And don’t call me Thick Mick.’
‘Relax’ says Les, Mick’s friend and partner in crime. ‘The sergeant is only doing his job.’
Mick had received his nickname because he was tough and thick skinned, not because of his mental shortcomings. But perhaps to some, that was arguable.
‘The bouncer attacked me, so I smacked him in the face. Self defence, if you ask me!’ Thick Mick continues.
The sergeant interrupts, ‘Please explain why you were both running out, without having settled your bar bill?’
‘Oh shit,’ Les sinks his face into his arms.
‘Oh no, it is all coming back to me’ says Thick Mick as he wipes away the perspiration from his forehead recalling the events of that night as they came flooding back…
‘It feels hot tonight’ said Mick as he was trying to light a cigarette which was hanging from his lips.
‘They are hotter’ said Les looking over Mick’s shoulder.
‘They who?’ asked Mick, a bit slow on the uptake.
‘Behind you....’ but before Les could finish, Mick had turned around to see what the fuss was about.
‘Talk about being obvious’ said Les. ‘You could have looked with a little finesse, now they know that we’ve clocked them!’
‘So? Not against the law to look at people, is it? That’s what you call window shopping.’
‘You know nothing about women, do you Mick? Said Les tutting.
Nick and Les were childhood friends. From orphanage to orphanage, both without parents, both in and out of prison. Growing up they got involved with the wrong crowd, but as fate would have it, they came out clean. The Maxwell brothers who owned blocks of flats on the strip, trusted them to collect their rent. They made a good living.
Mick and Les were standing outside the Times Music Bar, a popular place with tourists and locals. Nostalgic rock music from the 60’s and 70’s drew in the punters. Outside you could see Vespas lined up glistening in the streetlight. The bar was a magnet for bikers who would pose just to get seen and an opportunity to show off their classic bikes.
Les glanced over Mick’s shoulder once again. ‘They are looking at us Mick,’ stated Les.
‘Hmm, what do you think Les, shall we?’
‘Watch’ said Les as he plucked a flower from one of the planters that lined the promenade and started to walk towards the girls.
‘Good evening ladies’ was his opening line to which he received a positive response and a smile.
‘Thought you should have this, it matches the colour of your scooter,’ continued Les as he handed the red carnation to the brunette.
‘Oh thank you so much, it is not my scooter, just using it as a footrest, but I’ll keep the flower.’ She replied.
‘Are you ladies going to the Times Bar?’ Asked Les.
‘No, but we could be persuaded,’ answered the Blond.
‘And what does one do to persuade you?’ said Les, giving her a broad smile.
‘You have already done it,’ said the Brunette, standing up and putting her arm through Les’.
Her friend followed suit by grabbing Mick’s arm.
‘Oh, big muscles.’ She said, giving Thick Mick’s arm a squeeze.
They were having a great night that evening and plenty to drink, probably too much. Mick had noticed Les and the Brunette were on the dance floor necking. The Blonde returned from the stage where she had asked the band to play a request. She invited Mick to dance. He was tipsy enough to agree. It was a classic song from the sixties, Lola.
‘Do you like the song? She said squeezing him tight.
‘Sure great’ Mick replied, looking into her eyes, feeling the warmth of her body close to him.
The Blonde sang along with the song. ‘She walked up to me and asked me to dance. I asked her her name, and in a dark brown voice she said Lola’.
Mick was captivated by her bright red lipstick and was about to plant his lips onto hers when he thought wait a minute, what are those lyrics again? ‘In a dark brown voice she said Lola.’
Mick looked down at her hot pants. She certainly looked the part but he noticed a bulge in her pants. ‘I ain’t that drunk, am I?’Mick thought.
He couldn’t help himself he had to know. He forced his hand down her pants.
‘Frigging Hell’ he screamed. ‘Urgh’
He pushed her away, she pulled him back, and he desperately broke free. Mick ran over to Les and grabbed him.
‘We’re flipping getting out of here, right now! He shouted. ‘Your bird’s got a dick!’
‘Urgh,’ said Les wiping his lips.
They scrambled out of the club, maybe even running a little when the bouncer floored Mick. Thick Mick felt nothing, like a reflex he jumped back onto his feet, and with one blow, knocked the bouncer out.
The sergeant stands up unable to control his laughter. ‘You are lucky, the bouncer hasn’t pressed any charges. Just pay your bar bill and you two are free to go.
Who would have thought, all this commotion over a little prick. If I were you Thick Mick, I’d get a new nickname.’
Story by Theo Michael and Chris Christodoulou