Free The Mammoth Book of Hard Bastards (Mammoth Books) by Robin Barratt

stance and took him front on, did a double hook-block, grabbed and pulled him straight on to the top of my forehead.
    Whack. It was a perfect “Liverpool kiss” … night, night. He dropped like a stone.
    This had been coming for a while, so I was “lit up” now, but there were no “number two” takers tonight. As I went to attend the young lad, I told scumbag’s mates to get him out and that he was barred from the club. That was the Friday night.
    Next night they were all cheerfully back, minus one. They were here for some fun tonight – and I was to be the fun.
    It got to around midnight. All quiet. I secured the door and went upstairs to check around. As I walked in, thirty pairs of eyes all turned to stare.
    “Uh oh!”
    I wandered back out. They’d never congregated like this, so something was definitely up. I told the boss to go and take a look – he’d been the one letting them all in. He came back pale.
    “What are we going to do? They look like they’re going to smash the place up.”
    “Can I use your phone?”
    Gary, my instructor, was working the biggest nightclub in the city. It housed three discos of various kinds of music, plus a live-band ballroom that could take up to 2,000 people. The security team was fifteen.
    “Sensei, sorry to bother you …” I explained my situation.
    “Stay out of the light, digga. We’ll be right up.”
    “I’ll be right here.”
    Well, if I was going to get “done” tonight, it was going to take thirty of ’em to feel comfortable enough to do it.
    Twenty minutes later, a light knock on the door. I opened it and a shiver went through me. Gary had brought up four friends and an aura with them.
    Gary was 250 pounds, with a twenty-inch neck, bench-pressed 350 pounds and was fourth dan Goju karate. He had fifteen years’ martial arts experience, the last two spent in the world headquarters of karate in Japan. He was absolutely lethal, having been involved in the security field for over ten years.
    Terry was six foot two with sixteen years working nightclub doors. He had been British karate team captain (of the only team to beat Japan), with lightning-fast kicks, deadly with everything; fifth dan black belt, Shotokan karate.
    R.C. was five foot six of steel wire; ex-British Special Air Service; seventh dan ju-jitsu; third dan karate; and the All-Asia weapons champion. A living legend whose glare alone would stop you breathing.
    Richie was a six foot three ex-mercenary – Congo, exploits “ classified ”; second dan. He had a shaved head, goatee beard and a big earring…We called him “Shazam”. He had the original look of so many in the security field today.
    Jimmy was a five foot ten natural street-fighter/survivalist with a solid build and piercing black eyes. If you put Jimmy and a cougar in a sack and dropped it in the river, my money would be on Jimmy coming up, wearing a new fur coat – my best mate.
    And of course, lil’ ol’ me.
    I explained the situation and they told me what to do.
    I went inside to see Mike, the manager, and got him to turn the lights on early and shut the music off. This caused a groan from the crowd. Next, the waitresses were pulled back behind the bar. The metal roller shutters then came crashing down over the serving hatches. At this sound the double-doors into the dance-floor crashed back against the walls. The six of us walked in and spread out round the dance-floor where this big team had gathered. It quickly became evident that my friends weren’t here for a drink.
    You could have heard a pin drop.
    Thirty pairs of eyes took on the look of lambs … as the wolves gathered.
    Standing with my back to the bar I removed my watch in front of them. I always liked the psychological effect that had on people.
    Terry started a walk around the dance-floor. The others were either pacing back and forth or just glaring at them. Terry walked toward me, giving me a small smile and a nod of encouragement. As he walked past me, all I