The Doorman: Nights in Corcaigh

By Marcus Toni Hilden

The Doorman: Nights in Corcaigh tells the story of bouncer Emmet, a bodybuilder sick of his job.

Emmet spends his days in the gym, and his nights on the door to one of Cork County's busiest night clubs.

Steroids, drunks, and drugs provide a toxic environment. Looking for a way out, Emmet gets involved with the wrong crowd, and pays the price for cheating.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marcus Toni Hilden
• Release date: Dec 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393728726

Book preview

Chapter 1

#Drugs. The Garda had come to the club earlier in the week. They sort of had to, a young lass had messed with too much powder on the premises and paid the ultimate price. Emmet was still shocked about it. He didn’t know her of course, but anyway. She was young, she was good looking, she had her whole life ahead of her, and now it was all over because of one night. It was sad. It was more than sad, it was an absolute tragedy. Emmet couldn’t stop thinking about it. That girl was someone’s daughter, and now she was dead. Because of drugs. How stupid.

He wanted to intervene when it happened but Jason had stopped him. Jason probably thought he was doing this bird a favour, letting her party on for the rest of the night despite that it was inappropriate with powder in the open like that, not to mention illegal, and obviously, very dangerous. He did not seem too bothered with the fact that she was dead though. He did not like it of course, but he didn’t seem to feel any guilt. Then again, why should he? If they had stopped her, she probably would have just snorted her lines somewhere else anyway, ending up in the same way. Taking drugs was always a gamble, whether they were party pills, cocaine, or needles. Just like betting on the races, you could lose. The difference was, you were not gambling with money. You were gambling with your life. It was very dark stuff that folks were up to these days, Emmet concluded. For a moment he allowed himself to feel smug considering he was the sober bouncer governing people who did not know any better than to get themselves intoxicated. But the feeling wore off quickly as he realised he was no better himself. The tablets. He was intoxicating himself too. With performance enhancing pills.

Emmet went out and about in town, strolling around simply enjoying his Friday. His lunch consisted of a garlic chips with cheese tray, his recipe for a successful cheat day. Emmet was munching away like he had not seen food in a month on this beautiful day. The traditional Irish chippers knew what they were doing. Nothing beats them, Emmet thought. Traditional Irish chips. Not the mass-produced over fried crispy fries you would get in one of the franchised fast food chains. No way. Real chips. Soaked at first in water and then deep fried, that way they would be soft on the inside and crispy on the outside. But most of all, they would taste like actual potatoes. Not some powdery shite obtained after research in a lab. The chips from the chipper were the business. This is it, the stuff you need on cheat day, he concluded. He had been dieting all week to get this. Emmet had also got himself a nice breast in a bun: a full deep fried chicken fillet in light batter, served on a toasted bun with mayo, lettuce and cheddar cheese. For extra taste, Emmet had also added his own personal favourite: brown sauce. It literally worked with everything.

He was in good spirits. And to top it all off, he was sucking on a straw that penetrated the most calorie heavy milk shake this side of the county had to offer. It was creamy. It was heavy. It was loaded with sugar and fat. It even had some protein. But most of all, it had calories. The milkshake was the result of an orgy between ice cream, banana, peanut butter, and whole milk. This shake was no joke, and Emmet was sucking it in like his life depended on it. Oh yeah, he was enjoying himself. Training was already done, and his muscles were swollen. Friday and cheat day. The Irish sun was tanning his face. What more could he ask for?

The summer in Cork came early, and it was brilliant. Yes, it rained in the Emerald Isle, but a bit of a drizzle now and then did not kill anyone. The weather in late May was pleasantly warm and humid. Walking down Grand Parade in a pair of shorts, sunglasses, and a big milkshake on cheat day was not bad at all. No worries. Not until you bumped into a familiar face that had beef with you.

Emmet had to bar a young lad from the club, and rightly so, after he threw a glass on the wall a few weeks back. The owner had said it straight away: Bar that man until further notice. People didn’t get barred in Cork very often, but when they did, it was a big deal. Because of the size of this town, word got around fast. And when it did, and it was bad news, it certainly had an impact. If you got labelled as bad news, chances were that nobody wanted to have anything to do with you for a very long time. And some people chose to retaliate, straight back at Emmet, the doorman. After all, from their perspective, he was the cause of the problem. He was the one who had barred them. He was the obnoxious doorman on a power trip who enjoyed giving people a hard time when they were trying to have a good time. He was the bad guy, and he needed to be told he was wrong for barring people.

It was just after noon when a big young lad bumped into Emmet making him drop his shake.

Sorry boy, didn’t see ya. Are you well?

Emmet looked up through his dark shades and saw a tall man with cauliflower ears. This man is a rugby player, Emmet thought.

Don’t worry I’ll get a new one, he said.

The tall man was quick to reply in the common fast pace of the local language.

I didn’t think big boys like you ate that kinda shite, he said with a serious face.

Emmet could tell the man was looking for trouble. Emmet had ended up in a fight or two over the years but it was not something he planned on making a habit.

I’ll eat anything, he replied smiling. He tried to not make his smile look cheeky, even though he knew they were both thinking the exact same thing. At this stage, they both knew they had an encounter a few weeks back where Emmet exercised his rights as a bouncer and barred the rugby player.

I see you do boy, want me to get you another milkshake? Will you finish it all like a good little lad? the man said in a tone that reeked of condescension.

This is your chance to steer off trouble, Emmet told himself. He knew that a smart-arse remark was all it took for a fight to kick off.

No you’re grand, have a good one, he replied and walked away. His afternoon was coming to an end.

*

Emmet met his ex-girlfriend at the door to the club. Not good, but what could he do? She, a Cuban lass, was drunk and wanted to get in. He could say no, but that would make it worse. That would mean a confrontation. It would mean a conversation, probably a conversation better held in private than in front of a line of drunk people, which he obviously did not want. Especially not when guarding the entrance to one of the most busy night clubs in the county. So he just let her in after quickly exchanging the usual pleasantries, asking her how she was, and pretending to care. It was like something slightly better than a regular greeting, out of courtesy, nothing more.

Apart from meeting his ex at the door things at the club were taking their usual course. Bar staff was running around picking up empty pint glasses, bottles, and fancy cocktail ornaments with curly straws and umbrellas sticking out of them. The men’s loo stank like a smelly man’s piss, and the ladies toilet was so clean you could serve up portions of fish and chips on the seats inside. And the only thing that would smell in there would be the fish. For real.

It was approaching one A.M. and people were starting to become more than just tipsy. Full on plastered status was lurking around the corner. Two girls were kissing at the bar.

Whatever, Emmet thought. Guys were standing around watching, even filming on their smart phones, because it was mint. It was ridiculous.

Some lads were staggering around because of one too many and drunk girls were spilling their drinks and screaming of excitement as girlfriends filled their ears with dirty gossip. The pounding music kept people dancing, and screaming, in order to hear each other. Emmet was inside supervising the dance floor this evening, and he occasionally took a round of the club checking that everything was ok in the men’s loo as well. The annoying thing was that it wasn’t. But he pretended it was.

Brett was in the men’s toilet and he was also all over the shop. Does he have to be here every night? Emmet wondered. Brett was at the club often, sometimes several times per week, and normally well behaved. But not tonight. He was drunk this evening. He was also high. And he was now scoring pills from some langer who shouldn’t be there. This was the very definition of uncomfortable for Emmet. He could of course throw Brett out, that was easy. And the next time Emmet went to the gym, he would be thrown out himself. At the same time, if he did not interfere Brett was definitely going to get plastered. Not in the next few hours, he was minutes, if not seconds away, from leaving sanity behind. This was bad. Real bad. Emmet decided to have a word.

Hey Brett, how’s things?

Brett looked at him with pupils that spelt drugs in neon.

Fucking Brilliant. How’s things yourself? Tablets doing you good boy?

Emmet found it a bit amusing that his gym owner, Brett, in his current state, had taken the initiative to ask him about the performance enhancing tablets.

Even though Brett was as American as peanut butter he had definitely picked up some of the local lingo. When he said boy it sounded more like bai and every second sentence was sure to include a bit of swearing as normal in this neck of the woods. Regardless, Brett was currently a very long way from home. Literally. Emmet contemplated