thought and took a short, hesitant drag. There was no lightheadedness, no feeling of sickness from the poison pouring down my throat and into my veins. Instead, there was just an easy feeling of coming home. I took a longer drag and finally found myself relaxing properly for the first time since I'd got back.
A tuneless, half-hearted cheer went up from the tables and I turned to see what it was in aid of. A tall young lady with very long legs had entered the room from a door beyond the end of the bar and was strutting towards the platform. She was wearing about an inch of make-up and not much else — just a glittering gold bra and thong, and high-heeled court shoes of the same colour — and her overall demeanour suggested she thought she was one hell of a lot better looking than she actually was. Not that you could call her unattractive. It was difficult to tell through all the foundation, but I suspected that she would always look better in a pub at night than in bed the following morning.
A song I didn't recognize by a female singer I also didn't recognize started playing loudly as the girl reached the stage, stopping to smile and blow a seductive kiss at a group of half a dozen young drunks at the nearest table, who whooped appreciatively. I had to give her her dues: she was doing a good job of acting like she was enjoying herself, which couldn't have been easy in a place like this. It reminded me of the beautiful young girls in the Philippines you often saw on the arms of older, badly dressed Western men. Always smiling, regardless of how ugly the guy they were with was — and they were usually pretty damned ugly. All part of a woman's natural ability to pull the wool over a man's eyes, I suppose.
She got up on the stage and started doing a slow, supposedly sexy dance routine which involved a lot of swaying and wiggling and not even a negligible attempt to stay in time with the music. Not that the audience seemed to mind. As the bra came off to reveal a pair of small but perky breasts, a louder cheer went up from the audience, and someone at the drunks' table yelled at her to get the rest of it off. I noticed Apeman screw up his face into a scowl when he heard this, as if he sensed that that particular table might give him trouble. Overall the atmosphere in the pub was jovial, but I'd spent enough of my life in this town to know that things could change in an instant, especially when drink was involved.
And they did.
It was after the stripper had removed her thong and was gyrating naked with her back to the audience that it happened. Slowly, ever so slowly, she bent down to touch her toes, her naked arse rising higher and higher in the air as she did so, giving the whole room an eyeful of her nether regions, which were so cleanly shaved they could have featured them on an advert for Gillette. As her fingers touched the floor in an impressive show of physical flexibility and her arse reached its zenith, one of the drunks with impeccable timing blew a loud, dry and very realistic raspberry.
Which was the moment all hell broke loose.
Several older members of the audience jumped to their feet and began remonstrating angrily with the drunks, who were all out of their chairs in an instant. There was the usual pushing and shoving, accompanied by loud threats, and one of the drunks threw a punch that sent the recipient stumbling backwards. Scuffles erupted and a table went over in a cacophony of breaking glass.
But the drunks had made a mistake. They'd turned their backs on the stripper, who, not surprisingly, was none too happy with the way her routine had been hijacked. With a deft movement, she pulled off one of her shoes and turned it round in her hand so that the heel was jutting out like a weapon. Then, snarling and cursing (all pretence of sultry seductiveness now gone), she launched a ferocious surprise attack that I'm not afraid to admit had me wincing.
The nearest drunk got the heel right in the top of his head, the blow landing with such force that I swear it actually penetrated bone. In fact, she had to work hard to get it out again, but it finally came free, and as he shrieked in pain, she let him have it again, although this time her technique for retrieving her weapon had improved, and it was out almost as soon as it went in. The victim went down to his knees, clutching his head, and one of the older regulars took advantage of his state to catch him with a sly kick to the ribs.
'You fucking bastards!' the stripper yowled in a voice so high that one more octave and only dogs would have heard it. The rest of the drunks turned round in unison, and she let the nearest one have it with a scything swipe of the heel that opened up a vicious gash on his cheek. He was hurt but he ignored that fact and lunged forward, trying to grab her by the legs. With a deft movement, she hopped backwards on her bare foot like a naked gymnast, and launched a karate kick with the other foot, the one with the remaining shoe on, the heel catching him right between the eyes. Which was him out for the count.
'Christ, she's good,' I said to the old geezer who, like me, had turned in his seat to watch events unfold. 'She should be in a martial arts film.'
'Does judo,' he rasped, turning my way with an amused expression. 'Don't ever want to mess with Judo Julie. Got a wicked fucking temper on her.'
'Do you think she'll be all right?' I asked, taking a sip from my drink and watching as a bottle of beer sailed through the air in her direction. It narrowly missed her head before smashing against the wall behind the stage. The whole group of drunks — at least those still standing — started to fight their way towards her en masse.
'Don't you worry,' he cackled. 'Ernie'll sort it out.'
'Him?' I said, motioning towards Apeman, who was coming round from behind the bar, huge fists bunched somewhere down near his knees. He didn't look very happy.
The old geezer continued his cackling. 'Yeah, that's Ernie.'
The drunks caught sight of Ernie only after he announced himself by bellowing incoherently — a sound that was not unlike a cross between a bull and a donkey — and when they did, the fight drained out of them with an impressive rapidity. Unfortunately for them, it was too late. For a big man Ernie was surprisingly swift of foot, and within a few bounds he was on them, the other battling punters parting like the Red Sea to give him easier access.
'All right, mate, leave it!' yelled one of the drunks desperately, but his words were unceremoniously cut short when his chin came into contact with Ernie's left fist, the force of the blow lifting him bodily off his feet. He came crashing down on the floor somewhere out of sight, leaving the rest of his mates in the firing line. I'm sure I heard one of them let out a high-pitched scream.
Ernie charged into them with a couple of swinging roundhouse rights that had those who were still on their feet scrambling madly for the door, not even bothering to pick up what was left of their mates. Ernie then allowed himself to be restrained by a couple of the locals while Judo Julie the stripper, a stiletto in each hand, stalked the pub floor naked, like something out of a pornographic version of Lord of the Flies, swearing and cursing, and occasionally administering punishment to any of the injured drunks who weren't quick enough in following their mates out the door.
Like all good pub brawls, the whole thing was over very quickly. The initial offending fart noise to the final denouement had taken less than a minute and the girl singer I didn't recognize was still pining away on the CD. Something about her baby cheating on her. It made me think that I wouldn't want to cheat on Judo Julie.
But by this time even Julie's anger had dissipated and she stepped back onto the stage to bring her act to a final, anatomically educational conclusion while the area around her was cleared up and a couple of the wounded locals bought themselves fresh drinks from the bar to ease their pain. No one seemed to be too bothered by what had happened, not even Ernie, who was having to do most of the clearing up, and I guessed that most of those present saw it as an event that was incidental to their evening. Something for them to chat and have a laugh about in those moments when their conversation hit an unwelcome pause.
Welcome to London. Home of Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament and the traditional pub brawl.
I finished my pint and looked at my watch. The stage was empty now and the place back to normal, with the buzz of conversation drifting through the smoky air. I pulled two cigarettes from the pack, and lit one while I pondered a third pint.
'Another drink?' asked Ernie, lumbering over and lifting my glass, his expression the most friendly I'd seen it that evening. There was even the hint of a smile there. Obviously, inflicting a bit of pain lifted his spirits. I'd met a few people like him down the years.
'Sure,' I answered, replacing the second cigarette in the pack upside down, figuring that in this town I was going to need all the luck I could get. 'Why not?'
