“He bent the guys arm back until it broke.” The voice was shocked. Damn. That shit sounds crazy.
Jimmy the Manager was sitting at the bar. He was holding court. Today he had an audience of half a dozen customers and staff members including Russ the Cook and a doorman named Frank, all listening intently as he told them the latest story of what Wayne the Crazy Doorman did to some helpless but deserving customer.
Now here’s a little about Wayne. Wayne was not just a doorman, he was a ‘Cooler’. A Cooler, in our part of the civilized world, is someone who can intimidate and mess up just about anyone. Let’s say you have a Gang trying to extort your club, you call a Cooler and he straightens them out, either by intimidation, violence, or even a negotiation of some kind (a negotiation can go like this: “Stop coming here or I’ll shoot you!” – it’s a win-win situation). Wayne was the former Enforcer of some outlaw Motorcycle Club. This meant if a big bad biker misbehaved, went against the club, or needed to be put in his place, Wayne would be the one to do it. He had to be nasty enough to scare and coerce the nastiest of thugs. Wayne was no longer in that Biker Gang, but his reputation earned him other gigs, including bodyguard work for celebs, and protecting scab workers as they crossed picket lines during rough and dangerous strikes, and occasional bouncer work at stripclubs. Wayne accomplished these jobs by being on the largish side, and having large, fast hands which would put people to sleep upon impact. He was big, but not as big as you would think when you think about a big scary biker. He was relatively clean cut, and he was old for the club game, in his 50’s at least (assuming you believe 50 to be old). He didn’t work at the club often. He just filled in occasionally. And his various viscous services were provided for reasonable prices.
Jimmy continued his story. “He dragged the guy out for some reason. The guy was being an asshole, Wayne told him to leave, and the guy starts up with him.”
“Did Wayne bang his head off the post on the way out?” I asked.
“Of course! Wayne never misses a chance to bang heads off of the post.” This was like his patented move. Drag the customer out and ‘accidentally’ bump his head on this big post located at the door. One of the staff will wash the blood off of it immediately afterwards.
“I didn't notice him." I added, "Valerie must have served him. I was doing service bar all night.”
“He was talkin’ stupid just to the chicks,” said Jimmy, “the guy was a total prick. Rude to all the girls he talked to. He wouldn’t say that kind of stuff to a guy. At least I would hope he wouldn’t.”
I couldn’t tell you how drunk the guy was, but you’d need to be quite drunk to start a fight at this place. It’s just not something sober people ever do. It had been so busy that I had been unable to pay attention to anything other than serving hundreds of drinks to the waitresses. Apparently this guy Jimmy was going on about was a real pain in the ass.
“So Wayne throws the guy out and the guy gets in his car to drive away. Wayne reaches into the open window and grabs his arm. He holds onto it as the guy drives, and his arm stretches back and breaks! No shit!” Jimmy is loving this crowds reaction, his smiling face advertising his obvious enjoyment as he tells his tail. The visualization of the hyper-extension of the limb is graphic, and really rather horrible, leaving his listeners shocked and aghast.
“Well I ain’t worried about that shit” said the Courier Man, in for his daily beer and wings, “I never fuck around here. If I did I’d have nowhere to go.”
“Yeah that Wayne is Crazy,” added Russ the Cook in his Albanian accent “too crazy sometimes. Gonna get the club in trouble – but don’t tell Wayne I said that.”
A week later, Jimmy was telling the exact same story – sort of. He had Bald Headed Pete, Russ the Cook again, two truckers, and two guys from a warehouse nearby listening to his new legend of violence, adventure, and harsh justice.
“Yeah! No bullshit! Wayne started smashing the guy’s windows on his car. He kicked the glass in and then started breaking the indicator lights and headlights. He did the entire car. Anything glass got smashed.”
“Hey Jimmy,” I interrupted. “What did he break it all with? His feet? He kick it or something?”
“Naw, he had a cane, he smashed it with his cane. That’s how he was able to grab the guys arm and break it, he had broken the window and he just reached thru.”
“Damn that Wayne is one bad motherfucker.” Bald Headed Pete looked like he wanted to shiver. They were all awestruck by this chaotic and messy event. Jimmy was smiling.
Again Russ the Cook expressed his humble opinion “He’s too crazy – gonna give us trouble doing that shit.”
A week went by again and once more Jimmy is animatedly telling a collection of regulars the same brutal story - sort of. This time we have regulars Lucas the ex-army guy with the ponytail, Deep Fryin’ Ryan (who is the other cook), Rick and Bob from Purolator, and Phat Dave who’s a popular pot dealer, (Dave is White but thinks he’s Black – like that guy from that Trailer Park show – but in his 40s). Shocked faces surround Jimmy as he relays witnessing the ultra-violence that went down in this very parking lot.
“Wayne bends the left arm back, the one closest to him thru the window. It crunches! Broken and bent right back! The guy is screaming. Wayne reaches in and grabs the right arm, and as the guy starts to drive away he holds onto the arm, and bends it back until it also snaps! The guys got two broken fuckin’ arms!” Jimmy is like a sports commentator tonight, providing play by play details of this big fight. His crowd loves it and the exclamations come pouring in from all sides. Damn! Fuck! Motherfucker is ruthless! Yo that shit’s crazy! The usual expressions of shock and horror. Phat Dave added something about Motherfucker Trippin’ and all. Not sure what he meant since nobody technically got tripped.
This got me wondering if all the other nasty stuff I’ve heard Wayne do is all exaggerated to an extreme. His business depends on people being scared of him so it would benefit him financially. If you are trying to intimidate people who are already terrified then it goes to say that most of your work is already done. I did not witness the fight in the parking lot, but I know that the events become more and more extreme the more often the story is told. Maybe Wayne gave ‘The Guy’ a bitch-slap and told him to fuck off. Nobody but Jimmy ever tells the story. I think he was the only witness.
I was thinking that maybe there was some way I could get this exaggeration phenomenon to work for me. Maybe I could get a story circulating about the size of my penis. This could be quite amusing. Thru the inevitable process of exaggeration that exists at this club, I thought about how people eventually would talk about it. I could try to get this nice rumor started at a conservative 7 inches and then see where it goes.
“10 inches!” they would say “No bullshit! And I hear it’s thick too!”
“Yeah and I hear he can go an hour without – you know – finishing.”
“All the dancers just hang out with him now!”
“He’s too big – gonna give us trouble doing that shit.”
“Motherfucker is trippin’!” (whatever that means).
Could you imagine the possibilities? Then I thought of the girls here and I realized that I did not need or want any extra attention from them. Life was complicated enough and at least I had my health.
Some time later The Boss was counting up some money in his closet-sized office, the same room that contained the hot water heater. He was preparing this weeks pay for his staff. The Boss doesn’t exaggerate too much. The Boss never looks for an audience. The Boss speaks only when necessary. The Boss speaks truth.
“Wayne was in the Vietnam war.” He was now folding the envelopes so the cash would stay inside.
“How, he’s Canadian, why would he be in ‘Nam.” I hadn’t heard this one.
“They took in people from other places, not sure how it worked but if you really wanted to go you could enlist.”
“But why go?”
“He said it was a great way to kill people legally.”
Damn! That shit IS crazy!
