It happened in the middle of one of our typically overpacked Friday nights. The music was pounding, the drinks were flowing, and the club was doing what it did best—pulling in a crowd while the competition watched with envy from a distance.
Then she walked in.
She was shapely but dressed plainly enough not to attract much attention—aside from the Gucci bag hanging from her arm. When she refused to leave it at coat check, it raised the coat-check girl’s suspicions. She could tell it was a knockoff but graciously allowed the woman to maintain her illusion and let her proceed.
The woman meekly meandered up to my well, looking completely out of place.
“Hi. Two shots of Jack.”
I served her the shots and collected her crumpled bills.
“Keep it,” she said, slamming them down like a woman on a mission.
“No shit, it’s the … ” Fuck it. She knew it was the exact amount.
I watched as she turned and headed toward the dance floor.
Once there, she strategically placed her bag beside the dance floor, rummaged through it, and left it behind. Then she scampered toward the exit and disappeared into the night almost as quickly as she had arrived.
I thought it was curious, but I just shook my head and continued working, not giving her much more thought.
A short time later, chaos broke out as people started coughing and hacking. Eyes began burning. Panic swept through the club as toxic fumes spread, and hundreds of customers scrambled toward the exits.
As the crowd cleared I could see the purse was still emitting a cloud of gas.
The staff and myself did the best we could to get everyone out safely and within minutes, the packed nightclub was empty.
The unassuming stranger hadn’t come to party. I strongly suspected she had been sent by a rival nightclub down the street. There had been plenty of shenanigans back and forth between the clubs over the previous six months, but this had officially gotten out of hand. Their plan was simple: force our customers outside and hope they would head straight to the competition.
It was dirty, desperate, and almost clever.
Almost.
Because nothing says our nightclub can’t compete with yours quite like hiring a nondescript woman with two shots of courage and a fake Gucci bag to clear the place out.
Think this story is crazy?
Experiences like this inspired the world of Pour Judgement. If you enjoy crime, nightlife, and unforgettable characters, start with Volume 1.
Include a Buy Now button.