Outside Ding Palace, Russell admired the layers of graffiti sprayed on the old warehouse building, while Tsara explained that the art wasn’t the work of vandals, “The owner got sick of people spraying over the white paint so he had the building designed that way...”
The chattery crowd waiting to enter the club didn’t complain when Tsara bumped through, pulling Russell by the hand. Everyone knew she worked there and was tough enough to throw anyone out. She high-fived the husky bouncers who stood like cinderblocks near the front door, then waited inside the foyer while Russell cleared the metal detector.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Russell’s house keys had activated an earsplitting bell that rang out into the street. Everyone clapped, hollered, and whistled like they did whenever the detector went off. Grinning like a shy celebrity, he took the keys from his pocket, put them in the tray, then hurried back through. His second attempt was ding free.
Deeper inside the club, Tsara spoke on her cell until Russell jogged up to her. “I understand,” she said quietly, before switching it off and shoving it inside her purse.
“Who was that?”
“My boss. I have to clock in so I’ll see you inside.” She kissed him on the cheek then ran through the Employees Only door.
Russell limped down the black surface of the neon blue lit foyer. He then stepped inside the energetic smoke cloud of the overcrowded dance hall. He nearly fainted when he saw that his favorite band Helmet was atop the flashing stage. When the silhouetted front man stepped into the spotlight, Russell shouted, “That’s Page Hamilton! That’s Page Hamilton!” before the driving riff of a song called Smart cut through amps like a chainsaw.
The music blared. Disco lights flashed through the haze from every direction. Shadowy dancers moved wildly on the floor, atop the bar, and on any furniture that would support their weight. Normally at this point, Russell would’ve sprung into the mosh pit, but he’d been shoved around enough back in that alley — and besides, just weaving through the crowd was painful enough with flailing elbows poking his bruises while he searched for a place to sit. He finally spotted some empty chairs on a raised level at the back of the club and hobbled fast to get there.
He walked up the steps and made his way past the crowded pool table area. However, before he could reach the chairs, everyone began to clap and cheer and they were all staring at him. Surely, they hadn’t heard that metal detector over Helmet’s deafening guitar riffs.
“Hey, why are those people clapping?” Russell shouted to a well-underdressed woman partying beside him.
“You must be a Mally-boy!” she squealed, wiggling her pierced navel. “When you’re inside Ding Palace, people celebrate when it’s obvious you got your butt kicked. It’s kind of like congratulations for surviving!”
Russell nodded slowly. “Gee thanks,” he shouted. “For nothin,” he murmured, wincing as he bent into the chair.
An hour later, Russell’s chewing gum had failed to control his urge and he put out his third cigarette. It also didn’t help that he still hadn’t seen Tsara even when an opening in the crowd allowed him to watch the bar. The other waiters and waitresses continued to return empty glasses and pick up fresh drinks, but he still didn’t see her.
Russell had been waiting for a clean ashtray and his third Pavaloo when he finally saw his server weaving through the crowd; his spiked green hair wasn’t hard to miss. He probably could’ve delivered the drink quicker had he not stopped to curse each person he bumped into. However, after the waiter had climbed the ramp in his electric wheelchair, he smiled all the way to Russell’s table.
“Spill anything this time?” Russell asked, glancing at the built in cup holders on the wheelchair.
“Not a drop mate. But for cryin’ out loud, you’d think these idiots could step aside. Don’t want to mess up me hair, ya know.”
Russell laughed.
“Listen mate, I’ve a message from Tsara for ya,” he said, placing the Pavaloo on the table.
“Where’s she at?” Russell asked, shooting forward in his chair. “She’s off tendin’ to some emergency. Here’s the key to her flat and a twenty for a cab. Remember not to hire a taxi that hasn’t Sheridon’s name in the window. The Pavaloos are on the house.”
Russell slammed his fist on the table.
“Now don’t cha go complainin’ mate. Imagine me gettin’ home on me own each night.”
“It’s not that. Just wish she’d told me herself. What happened to you anyway?”
“Don’t know mate. Ten Long Island Teas down me neck, and I wake up with this hair. That’s why it’s difficult gettin’ home ‘cause everyone wants to bloody touch it.”
Russell grinned as the waiter buzzed away, then stood to leave.
Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice over the noise. “What’s up, Mally-boy!”
“Sheridon! What are you doing here, I thought you were with your lady?”
“She kicked me out. Said she’s tired of me being late — and it’s your fault. Where you going?”
“Back to Tsara’s place. She left ‘cause some problem came up.” Sheridon pressed the light on his watch. “At three in the morning? Must’ve been serious. Come on man, I’ll give you a ride.”
The street leading to Sheridon’s car was lined with beat up stores and boarded doors. Sheridon talked about his troubles in Grevelton and Russell talked about his troubles at home. Sheridon said he liked Russell’s toughness and Russell said he thought Sheridon was funny — even when he wasn’t trying to be.
While Russell waited for Sheridon to unlock his vehicle, a police car zipped by. Russell held his breath hoping that the cop would keep moving. However, when the tires screeched and the blue and red lights suddenly flashed, he knew there was trouble. The patrol car made a furious U-turn then skidded to a halt in the middle of the street.
“Cops don’t patrol this area, especially on Saturday night,” said Sheridon, closing his door again.
“He got out and he’s coming this way,” Russell whispered. “Look at the size of that dude.”
“Don’t sweat it man. Just be cool,” said Sheridon.
“I am Officer Tobora, step away from the car!” he shouted, hand near his holster.
“Good evening, officer,” Russell said loudly.
“Shut your mouth!” the officer yelled, startling them. “Are you Russell Wellbay?”
“Why?” Russell asked nervously. “Answer my question!”
“Yeah, I’m Russell Wellbay.”
“Remain here,” said the police officer, marching back to the car.
“Let’s get outta here — somethin’s wrong with that dude.”
“I hear ya Russ. I’m gonna slip inside the car and open your door,” Sheridon whispered. But the moment he touched the door, the officer switched on the high beam headlights of his patrol car. Then, he revved the engine.
“What the hell is he doin’?” asked Sheridon, who couldn’t ex-
pect an answer with Russell’s mouth locked open. Then the officer increased his peculiar conduct; he pressed down on the horn and continued to let it whine along with the redlined engine moan. Suddenly the strange cop shifted into drive and sped towards Russell!
“Russ get out of the way!” yelled Sheridon.
Russell had frozen, standing owl eyed near the trunk of the car. Sheridon dashed over, grabbed him by the jacket, and yanked him clear. The officer didn’t brake, smashing into Sheridon’s ride and pushing it over the curb until it burst through the glass of a small Gieco office.
“That dude’s trying to kill me!” shouted Russell.
“Really?” asked Sheridon, with huge eyes.
“I didn’t know that. Come on man, RUN!”
With the patrol car tangled up in the wreckage, Russell and Sheridon had a good head start. However, it wasn’t long before the mad cop steered free and zoomed to catch up to them.
Russell ran hard but just couldn’t keep up. With the crazed cop gaining on them, Sheridon slowed down to wait for his breathless buddy. They were both panting when Sheridon picked him up by his legs and threw him onto his shoulder. “You owe me for this one,” said Sheridon, dashing away.
“He’s right behind us!” Russell shouted, looking back at the headlights while he bounced on Sheridon’s shoulder.
“Thinny, gotta reach a Thinny,” Sheridon said wheezing, referring to the alleyways of Grevelton that were much too narrow for the police to drive through. It was his first lesson of escape as a young gang member.
Luckily, three long Thinnys were just a few yards away and Sheridon kept chugging. When he turned down the first Thinny, Russell cheered as the cop whooshed by. Sheridon slowed down but kept moving. He knew exactly where he was and how to travel the Thinnys back to his car. Maybe the old clunker would still start.
Sheridon lowered Russell off his shoulder then poked his head out of the alleyway. With no sign of the police