C.G.Loggie

Chapter 1 : Another kick when I'm down

The bass pounds through the pavement before Tina Miles even reaches the club entrance. She stops twenty metres out, jaw tight, teeth grinding, fists clenched inside her thick bomber jacket pockets.This wasn't the job. The job was supposed to be the empty offices on Russell Street, quiet floors, dim corridors, nothing but her torch and a coffee machine. Nobody breathing down her neck. Nobody stumbling into her space reeking of vodka and bad decisions.But Ali rang two hours ago, voice slick with apology that didn't stick. "Massive favour, Tina. Jude's crook, and I need bodies on the door. I know it's not your thing, but we need a chick on the rope. Just tonight."She'd told him to get stuffed. He'd offered double rate. She'd hung up. He'd texted the pay bump to triple with the address.Cash is king in Tina’s world.Now she's here, against her better judgement.The club's façade blazes with purple neon, the name PULSE throbbing in cursive above frosted glass doors. It's early, but a small queue already snakes down the footpath, short skirts, tight shirts, laughter that scrapes her nerves raw. Someone's already chucked their guts up near the gutter. The smell of Watermelon Cruiser hits her before she's even reached the velvet rope.Her chest tightens. Heart rate spikes. She forces her breathing to steady, counting like the psychologist taught her. Four in. Hold. Four out.Doesn't help.The door supervisor, a big Samoan, shaved head, arms like tree trunks, nods at her. "You the replacement?""Yeah.""Right. You're on the rope. Check IDs, keep the dickheads moving. Any trouble, yell."Tina doesn't answer, just takes her position under the lights, shoulders stiff, eyes scanning faces she doesn't want to see.Exposed, angry, trapped, bought.Exactly where she doesn't want to be, but she thinks of the money.The queue shifts and sways, bodies pressing closer to the rope. Tina plants herself beside the chrome stanchion, arms crossed, face locked in what she hopes passes for professional indifference.One night. Just one bloody night.The bass vibrates through her boots, up her shins, settling somewhere behind her ribs. She breathes through her nose, shallow and controlled, eyes tracking movement without meeting anyone's gaze directly.A group of guys in suits worth about a month's salary approach, already half-cut, shoving each other and cackling. One peels off, swaying toward her with a grin that makes her skin crawl."How you doin', sweetheart?""ID." Her voice comes out flat, dead.He fumbles in his pocket, still grinning. "Come on, love, I'm clearly old enough…""ID."The grin falters. He produces a driver's licence, holding it too close to her face. She snatches it, checks the date, and shoves it back, nodding past the opened rope."Move."He mutters something she doesn't catch, but his mates drag him past, and she's already focused on the next pair, two girls in heels they can barely walk in, makeup perfect, phones out, filming themselves.IDs look legit. Technically, biologically, she is old enough to be their mum.Her jaw aches. She's grinding her teeth again.The Samoan supervisor, she catches his name tag, Vili, glances over, gives her a subtle nod. She doesn't return it.Inside, someone screams with laughter. Glass shatters. The small crowd near the rope surges forward, and Tina's hand instinctively moves to her hip, where a sidearm used to sit.Nothing there. Just empty fabric and muscle memory.The knot in her chest twists a little tighter.Breathe. Four in. Hold. Four out.Doesn't bloody help.The next guy appears from the opposite direction, stumbles, lurching out of the darkness like he's forgotten how legs work. Early twenties, polo shirt half-untucked, eyes glassy and unfocused. He heads straight for the door, trying, and failing, to swing a leg over the rope.Tina steps into his path. "Back of the line."He blinks at her, mouth slack. Then his face twists into something like determination. "Nah, nah, I gotta get in. My girlfriend's in there.""Queue's over there.""You don't understand." He sways, catches himself on the stanchion. The whole rope setup rattles. "She's waiting for me. She's inside."The smell rolls off him, bourbon, sweat, desperation. Tina's stomach turns."Sorry, mate. Can't let you in like this. You're too drunk.""Fuck off, I'm not…" He lunges toward the door. She shifts her weight, plants herself square in front of him. Not touching. Just there. Immovable."Step back.""I just need to…""Step. Back."His eyes focus on her properly for the first time, narrowing with recognition that she's not shifting. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"Tina's pulse hammers. Her hands ball into fists at her sides.Breathe. Four in. Hold. Four out."I'm the person telling you to walk away before this gets worse."Behind him, his mates catch up and cluster near the rope, same polo shirts, same drunk swagger. One cups his hands around his mouth. "Just leave it, Brad!"But Brad isn't listening. Brad jabs a finger toward her face, close enough that she smells the bourbon on his breath. "You can't stop me seeing my girlfriend. That's discrimination or some shit."The words hang there, absurd and slurred.Vili appears at her shoulder, arms crossed, presence like a brick wall materialising. "Everything sweet?"Tina doesn't break eye contact with Brad. "Old mate's just leaving.""Bullshit, I am.""Yeah, you are." Vili's voice drops an octave. "Walk. Now."Brad looks between them, calculation flickering behind the drunken haze. Then his mates grab his shoulders, drag him backwards with apologies already spilling from their mouths."Whatever. Club's shit anyway."They melt back toward the darkness they came from.Tina's hands shake. She shoves them back into her pockets.Vili grunts. "Nice work."She doesn't answer, just returns to her post, heart still hammering against her ribs.But Brad isn't done.He wrenches free from his mates, stumbling back toward the door. "You don't get it, she'll be starving! She hasn't eaten!"His voice pitches louder. Heads turn. The queue ripples with whispers and phone cameras lifting.Tina stays planted. "Your girlfriend will survive. You need to leave.""She needs me!" He spreads his arms wide, performing now for the growing audience. "What if she's hungry? What if…""Then she can get a kebab on her way out. You're not coming in.""This is fucked!" Spit flies from his mouth. "Absolutely fucked! I'm a paying customer…""You're drunk. Policy's clear.""I'm not fucking drunk!"The phones multiply. Someone giggles. Brad's face flushes crimson, veins standing out on his neck.Tina's chewed fingernails still dig into her palms. The tightness in her chest crawls up her throat, hot and sharp."Last chance. Walk away.""Make me, you…"Vili moves, but Tina's already stepping forward, over the rope, in his face, voice dropping to something cold and precise. "Finish that sentence. Go on."The queue holds its breath.Brad's mouth works soundlessly.Her hands shake harder now. She knows the signs, written by fate, the snap is coming.Brad won't shut up. "She'll be starving by now, absolutely starving, and you're keeping me from…"She snaps.The words pour out before Tina can stop them, sharp and vicious. "Don't worry about her being hungry, mate. I saw her in there earlier eating a whole bag of dicks."Silence. Then laughter erupts from the queue, genuine, shocked cackles that ripple down the footpath.Brad's face transforms. The drunken confusion hardens into pure rage, colour flooding up his neck, veins bulging. "What did you just say?"The phones lift higher. More laughter.Tina's heart hammers. Professional. Stay professional. But her mouth tastes like copper, her vision narrowing on his twisted expression."You heard me.""You fucking bitch…"He surges forward, faster than he looks, closing the gap, spit flying.
Tina's body reacts before her brain catches up. Hands up. Weight shifted. Ready.The laughter dies.Everything happens too fast and yet too slow all at once.His unintentional vomit hits first. Warm, acidic, splashing across her boots and shins. The stench floods her nostrils, bourbon and bile.Tina freezes. Her eyes flit to the chunky mess soaking through her laces and back to old mate.Then Brad swings.The fist comes wild and slow, telegraphed by a country mile. She sidesteps without thinking, muscle memory sharp despite the years away. His knuckles whoosh way past her ear.And it's on like Donkey Kong.Her hands are on him before conscious thought catches up, grabbing his collar, twisting, slamming him face-first into the brick wall beside the door.The phones capture everything. The nose crunch. The blood spray.Rage floods through her, hot, surging, overwhelming. Every synapse is firing at once. She doesn't think; she just moves.Her hands grab his shoulders, yanking him backwards, throwing him down onto the pavement. He hits hard, air punching from his lungs in a wet gasp. Before his body even tries telling his brain what is happening, she's on him, knee driving into his ribs, arm snaking around his throat.The headlock locks in.Brutal.Efficient.Gorgeous.He gags, clawing at her forearm. She twists his other arm behind his back, wrenching it upward until ligaments scream. His shoulder joint strains.He screams a gurgled confusion of pain.Someone with a camera in the crowd shouts out, "WORLDSTAR!"
Others get the viral video reference and join in a chorus.The sound should stop her. It doesn't.She pulls tighter, feeling cartilage grind. The Federal Police dismissal letter flashes behind her eyes, terminated for cause. The court transcripts. The headlines. Former Officer's Cannabis Shame. The coronial inquest. The bankruptcy notice. The empty bank account. The court-appointed therapist's office. The pills that work too well.All of it pours into her arms, her hands, the pressure increasing until…"STOP!"Vili's voice cuts through the red haze."GET THE FUCK OFF HIM!"His massive hands close on her shoulders, hauling her backwards. She resists, muscles rigid, still gripping, bringing Brad with her."Let him go! NOW!"The phones are everywhere. A dozen cameras, recording every second.Realisation crashes in like ice water after a sauna.Her hands open. Brad crumples, sobbing, clutching his arm, claret pouring from his nose down his shirt.She stumbles backwards, chest heaving, knuckles white.What did she just do?The crowd stares, silent now, no more laughter, no chorus of viral video references.Vili stands between her and Brad, face grim."Inside. Now."Tina's legs shake. She can't move, can't breathe.The phones keep recording.Vili's hand clamps around her bicep, dragging her through the frosted doors. Bass slams into her like a physical wall. Lights strobe across packed bodies, the heat suffocating after the crisp autumn air outside.