Free Bouncers and Bodyguards by Robin Barratt Page A

franchises worldwide, and the doors reopened – only this time the venue marketed itself to a different sector of revellers, and business never reached the same levels it did when shrewd executive Danny Rose owned the place. Danny knew how to add the extra magic to make the punters come back time and time again – he was a born nightclub promoter.
    Before Danny’s reign, Pals had been a pub with an ‘anything goes’ policy each and every day of the week: underage drinkers, no dress codes and all the fights that could be started. Its regulars were travellers and nasty characters from East Moseley – the noisy, violent, working-class district of the peaceful and wealthy Hampton Court area. The landlord who ran the pub back then was spending more money replacing windows and furniture than what was being rung through the tills, so it wasn’t too long before an alleged insurance job was organised – a fire that actually killed the landlord and the two idiots he hired to start the blaze. Needless to say, Danny did not want the same kind of crowds coming back to his new venue and gave his word to turn a blind eye to anything that went on at the front door that enforced that rule.
    Thanks to the inexperienced doormen that the door supervisors’ licence scheme was allowing through its vetting system, I had not yet arranged a fully hand-picked team. Hampton Court was a far cry from the West End and did not have the additional financial rewards that working ‘in the smoke’ offered. Scorpion Security supplied me with a few people until I had the chance to build a team I was happy with, but they were mostly a complete bunch of utter wankers – the licensing scheme had eliminated a tasty workforce and left mainly rank amateurs who could not stand up against a gust of wind let alone a team of scumbags from hell. Thankfully, I had managed to get an old acquaintance to agree to work with me. His name was Kevin, and he was a seasoned professional who had moved to Surrey after making a few quid in the construction game.
    I first met Kevin back in 1992 when I was freelancing. I had just enjoyed the atmospheric event of the World Wrestling Federation’s SummerSlam at Wembley Stadium, before heading down to Break for the Border, just off ?Tottenham Court Road, to work the night as a fill-in. It was a special night for me, not because I met Kevin, but because some of the wrestling stars came down to blow off some steam – they were staying in a nearby hotel. One of the stars who came in was the immortal Hulk Hogan – he was a boyhood hero of mine after I first saw him on late-night wrestling back in 1984. However, by the way he was acting in the club, I was glad I no longer thought of him as a role model, otherwise I would have been severely crushed – but, again, that is a story for another time.
    Kevin worked with me on the front door at Pals, vetting the punters and keeping the trouble out. Inside the club, I was lucky enough to have been supplied with Paul ‘Professor Hightower’ Smith, a six feet six inch mass of a man from Streatham. His Frank Bruno looks and stature made him stand out in a crowd, and the Professor had a right cross to equal the boxing champ he resembled so much. Paul got the nickname Professor Hightower because when he was not on duty he wore spectacles that seemed to hide his aggressive nature – you could understand how Clark Kent got away with it. They also made him look like a schoolteacher, hence the moniker. This was the full extent of the back-up I could rely on. The other two guys in attendance were a waste of space, and the sixth member of the team had yet to show up – it was not a good start.
    The doors were set to open at 7.30 p.m. for the club’s grand opening. The general manager was Michael Camp, and he was giving his staff a last-minute pep talk. At one time, Michael, or ‘Campy’ as he was called, had run The Limelight for Danny. Campy was a thinly built man with a little Friar Tuck