The new academic year began in earnest and optimism reigned. Rama bounced into the little house on Coburn Street with the elasticity of a new ball and Jennie and Jilly added the sparkle and colour of a woman's touch. Rhodri reported dutifully to Jennie and Rama that he had completed all the tasks that had been delegated to him, and was promptly assigned a few more. Seasoned hands made their way in pairs around the great University, watching herds of freshmen wander in search of direction and friendship. Where there had been fifty registered on the joint honors course there were now only five, and Physiology classes had become a very cosy affair with a mere eight in attendance. Biochemistry was the future, and being a strong department had press-ganged some fifty faithful and long suffering students towards the cause of an honors degree. Their faith was important for they were about to be subjected to a sustained heavy bombardment by myriad different metabolic pathways. The sole remnants of the joint honors brigade were the three F2 survivors Mark, Terry and Rhodri, with Wynn to add a little colour and texture to the irregulars. To this potent and heady mix came a transfer from another university; the strong minded and willful young Sally who had arrived to be united with her boyfriend at Cardiff. Together the five formed a strangely cohesive group in the refectory, where Mark philosophized, Sally chatted merrily, Terry performed, Rhodri watched and Wynn teased both of them. Their's was an exclusive little club, as there is nothing in life that bonds more tightly than the reassurance of identity.

No one had told the sun that the harvest was in, and he walked back to Coburn Street bathed in its dying embers. It was good to be alive and the great test of the summer was now but a distant memory. Tea parties were in full swing and Jennie had invited Mikie, Emma and Jilly round for some serious chin wagging. The key turned in its lock without the hesitancy it had known, and he walked in to his bedroom to find that the tea parade had dissolved into a formal session of relaxation in front of the television,

"Oh hello! Do come in sweetie!", purred Jennie momentarily breaking her gaze from Neighbours as a mark of respect, "You don't mind us watching telly in you room do you sweetie?", and her smile was both charming and debilitating and insisted on the proper reply,

"No, of course not Jennie"

"Do come and join us won't you? You know Mikie, Emmie, Jillie"

"Hello. Hello there. Why hello and how are you? You forgot to mention the lovely, the irrepressible Raam", he added kissing her hand in playful humour, but there was no overcoming the hostility he noted from Mikie,

"Oh hello Rod? How are you. I hear that you're bouncing now?", Mikie started. Rhodri pretended not to notice the slight intended, and changed the subject as smoothly as he could,

"How are the Neighbours today? I always seem to feel they have better weather than we do?"

"That's because they're down under silly!", reciprocated Jennie, and the ambience appeared to have been restored. She giggled and became a little carried away,

"Aren't mens' thingies ugly!"

Sniggers erupted and Rhodri remained politely indifferent,

"My dear Jennie, I always thought that ladies were supposed to lie back and think of England"

"But we're in Wales dearie"

Life with the three girls was largely enjoyable, although each led a very different life style. Rama was care free, relaxed and loved all men by the name of Tim. An infrequent visitor to the apartment, Raam had just switched to the study of history, and this afforded her the essential luxury of the three day weekend. Life to Rama was to be enjoyed, and if a problem could not be laughed away then it could be simply avoided altogether. Passages of time with Rama were occasional, fleeting and almost invariably pleasant, and for two such alien spirits there was scarcely a troubled word exchanged between them. Jennie was a born leader, and Jennie attacked life and indeed anything that stopped it from flowing in the direction that it most appropriately should. Charming and polite to a fault, Jennie planned her social life with the devotion and attention to personal detail that would have shamed a Cambridge steward. Of course despite his submissive nature with women, there were tensions with Jennie. Last year she had bared her soul to him, but now that they were too close for comfort. Her eternal search for perfection and her love for perfect people placed him under an uncomfortably fine magnifying glass and put him on best behaviour. He soon found his place however, and his BMW gave way to the chic Peugeot 205 in any symbolic parking spot near the front of the house. Of course other people made the heinous error of parking in the position that was reserved exclusively in her mind, but it was safest not to challenge her preconceptions and to offer support wherever possible. Jilly was, with Jennie, a student of language, that most elusive of British intellectual graces, and whereas the Dutch and the Swiss regarded a second and third language as being as natural an extension to life as tennis is in the Home Counties, the two poured their study time in to become part of that exclusive European Club. Despite Jennie's open door, Jilly felt more comfortable with her friends at the Students' Union and perhaps enjoyed a more conventional approach to student life than her house mates.

In early October Mikhael returned with his brother to Coburn Street to reclaim his beloved Alice and the possessions he had stored with Rhodri. To say that he was given a hostile reception by the girls might be as to say that the British overstayed their welcome in the American colonies. Jennie was furious that he had stayed in Jill's room without her permission, and no one cared to mention that fifty pounds had been received for the privilege.

"I can't believe his arrogance he stays here without permission and then leaves that broken down old heap in front of my house!"

Poor Mikhael had only just arrived at the front doorstep.

"Come in Mikhael! Welcome!", Rhodri added with a smile as Mikhael shrugged his broad and wiry shoulders. Unfortunately for Mikhael the girls had already seen fit to assist him in clearing his belongings from the house, which Rhodri had unilaterally agreed to store over the summer,

"And here are your things!", cried Jennie as various items rolled down the steep stairs to join those that had already collected at the bottom. Mikhael looked concerned as he leant forward to reclaim his possessions and return them to their boxes. Rama added her voice to the cats' chorus,

"Yes you're not welcome here and take your things with you".

Rhodri was not entirely aware as to what sins against polite society Mikhael had committed, or even at whom they were alleged to have been directed, but even he recognized animosity in its purest form. Mikhael, looking somewhat upset and mildly harassed, put his hands on his hips and stared at the growing pile of valued possessions,

"You know Rhodri, I do believe that I'm being hounded out of Cardiff", and then he laughed weakly at the absurdity of his statement.

"Yes they do seem a little upset, don't they", Rhodri agreed as if rationally assessing the situation. Mikhael laughed again as Rhodri helped him refill his boxes and carry them to the waiting and willing Alice.

"How did you get on with your exams Mikhael?"

"Failed most of them again I'm afraid", he sighed and then burst into a smile as though he had decided that Cardiff wasn't really him after all, "I can't resit so I'm afraid it's off to Luxembourg to plan my next move. My brother tells me that Alice won't start. Are you sure that looked after her?"

"I'm sorry Mikhael, but I haven't ridden her since you left. I'm afraid her engine has been left idle and I haven't run her regularly to keep her exercised".

"Oh Rhodri, how could you!", Mikhael seemed upset and agitated.

"I'm sorry Mikhael, but I've been working all the hours God sends, but thanks for lending her to me all the same"

A noisy shudder came from behind and a familiar if hoarse voice sounded,

"Ah, he's got her started at last ! She does sound a little chesty! Still keep in touch Rhodri and if you ever want to open that little record shop with me!", Mikhael smiled as his sense of humour returned.

"Somehow I don't think so. Good luck!", and he waved Alice and Mikhael goodbye and his heart sank softly as it knew what a good friend and companion he had lost.

Alwyn called him at about eleven on a restful Saturday morning,

"Can you get to the Boardwalk by one o'clock?"

"Where is it?"

"Penarth Road, about five miles"

"Sorry no. My car's being re-sprayed, I have no transportation"

"It's an afternoon party until four, we'll pay your taxi fare"

"Okay then", Rhodri conceded reluctantly, concerned not to upset his new employers.

The Boardwalk was as dull and synthetic as the customers, and Rhodri stood without conversation for four hours, an hour longer than he was to be paid for, and he spent much of the time clearing tables away and setting them up to pass the time. At least the manager was a kindly soul and fed the two of them, but it was scant consolation for a lost Saturday and a day that thrust into his mind a realization of how far he had fallen in a long two years. After paying the return leg of his taxi journey he found that he was already some five pounds out of pocket and disappointed at squandering such a sunny day.

Floyds was the centre of operations for Wyvern security. With a central location and the political advantage of being both a black and a white club, it was the centre of Alwyn and John's activities and he and all the other Wyvern door men congregated there between eleven and three on Sunday morning to receive their wages. After another long five hour night at Floyds he descended the stairs to receive his pay packet from Alwyn in his customary imperious fashion. Nonchalantly he placed his taxi receipts next to Alwyn's register,

"Here are my receipts from the taxi to and from the Boardwalk"

"I don't want those", sneered Alwyn dismissively.

"The taxi fare was five pounds"

"We don't pay for you to get to and from work"

Rhodri raised his eyebrows. A deliberate paused occupied the space where a reply had been anticipated, and the cool Alwyn even raised his head from his ledger to look down at him. Rhodri raised the receipts to eye level and screwed them up into a little ball in his fingers as though they were a contract, tossing them apathetically into the corner. Pretending that there was nothing more to be said on the issue, Rhodri signed for his wages whilst Alwyn continued to stare at him, with even a hint of surprise in his expression.

"Alea iacta est", he muttered under his breath as he walked towards the stairs.

It was a quite Thursday night at Floyds, and quite often he would be asked by Obi to work the magical corridor that separated whites from blacks, and denims from threads. His task was straight forward, he merely maintained dress standards and stopped the flow of drunkenness down the stairs. This was no great chore, the club was warm and with the exception of the occasional Somali or West Indian whose pupils had been dilated by inhalation of cocaine, life and work was not unduly stressful. Despite his icy and impassioned manner he was always apprehensive dealing with the young crack addicts, as the merest reflection of hostility in facial expression or movement could trigger a violent response. Communicating the simplest idea or rule to the young and mentally infirm whose staple diet was crack and speed was near impossible. To assert that they could not be allowed entry into the club because they were wearing trainers, and not shoes, one might have been forgiven for thinking that they had been threatened with a knife for they were on another plane of perception altogether. This mundane evening however was to prove to be the turning point in his awareness and of the forces that govern it. Tonight the portal between the material plane, from which he had derived his way of thought and approach to life and the spiritual world was to be opened, a threshold which once crossed, could never again be closed.

Flamboyant was perhaps not quite the word. The most elegantly dressed black man he had remembered seeing in Cardiff strolled confidently down the stairs and emerged through the tunnel between the two worlds. A most confident gentlemen, he wore a brilliant blue suit over a white shirt, with patent leather shoes. Flair was added in the form of a red bow tie and a red kerchief tucked neatly into his breast pocket. To finish the effect, he carried a pair of white velvet gloves which lent him an air of sophistication that went so well with his smile. Short and muscular he clearly kept himself in good shape, a strong physical presence that was amplified by the V of his jacket. What had struck Rhodri immediately as strange was the manner of his entry into Floyds. Rather than walking past the drab character to his left he had walked directly towards Rhodri, as if it had always been his intention to.

"Hallo there!", his words flowed positively through his smile as he radiated self-esteem. The gentleman laughed in a broad gesture and thrust out his right hand. Grasping a surprised hand he shook it vigorously and introduced himself boldly as though they had previously arranged a business meeting,

"My name is Nobby!", he laughed again, and then exhaled joyfully as if he had found what he had been looking for. The drab figure recovered to find his manners,

"Good evening, Rhodri"

"Aha!", he cried followed by a ritual laugh and grin, "He told me about you!"

"Oh? And who was that?"

"Do you train?", and he thrust out a snap punch which cut the air crisply to show that he did. Rhodri shook his head slowly from side to side. Nobby peered into the distance, then exhaled with satisfaction through his smile,

"Then it is spiritual!"

Rhodri looked at him curiously.

"I'll see you later!", he said without making eye contact, and then strode off to carry on his business in the club.

A clear sky allowed the rays of the cold sun to shine down the centre of St.Mary Street. It was two thirty in the afternoon and Rhodri strolled in his black denims and pullover, insulated from the cool blast of the wind by his great green coat. Barely glancing at the oncoming traffic he cantered across the street towards the National Westminster Bank where he had an appointment at three to discuss the management of his overdraft. Half an hour early, he stopped outside the bank to watch the city life roll by. A silver-grey Mercedes glided to a halt alongside the pavement opposite. Five youths, three Somali and two West Indian, moved their heads rhythmically to the rap music that echoed through the tinted glass. All were immaculately dressed in white and cream suits and decorated with extravagant gold chains and necklaces. A thin Somali youth slipped out from the front passenger seat towards a man in a black trench coat and Trilby standing in a doorway. After a brief exchange, with little evidence of a discussion or passing pleasantries the youth he now recognized from Floyds skipped back into the car. Five straight faces slowly pulled away in the silent grace and smoothness of the powerful limousine. He had seen them several times before, each time in a different car, whether it was a silver-grey Mercedes, a white BMW or a red Bentley. It was invariably the same group of youths, barely twenty at a guess, who suggested no evidence of education or graft to justify their affluence. Some he had seen dealing in the club, others just around. A tip of the iceberg came across his mind as he turned to settle his overdraft facility in the bank.

The very next weekend Alwyn drafted him to serve at the Wine Press. Arriving on Friday at nine, dressed in black jumper, trousers and tie, he saw Paul and Nobby standing in front of the hole in St.Mary Street with a third man, large and heavy carrying a moustache. He introduced himself to Nobby, who he guessed was the head door man. To his surprise Nobby wore the same contrasting red, white and blue that he had worn at Floyds. But it was not the same Nobby he had met a week earlier. Wearing a frown and staring ahead as if in willful ignorance, he seemed disinterested in the new arrival. Undeterred Rhodri introduced himself,

"Good evening Nobby! I've been summoned to help you boys tonight".

Nobby ignored him, and after a polite pause Rhodri persisted,

"Where shall I station myself?"

Again there was no reply.

"I was sent here by Alwyn for the weekend to work the door with you".

"Do not speak with me!", Nobby replied abruptly. Rhodri looked at him in bemused silence.

"He has warned me about you"

Rhodri stared at him as if to insinuate some manner of madness. Once again he looked at the three in turn searching for clues to explain their state of mind. Nobby clutched a walkie-talkie, an expensive one at that. Surely this was not standard issue on the door? Tired of the intransigence of his new colleagues, he turned towards the entrance intending to search for the more friendly and rational manager. His move was not necessary as a stern faced Paul made his way purposefully to the top of the stairs,

"Ah! Good evening Paul. Do you want me to work upstairs or downstairs?"

"Good evening Rhodri", replied Paul. However his eyes reflected no interest in his words, "We've been having an on going problem here. Can you take care of downstairs for me? Paul is there any sign of them yet?"

"Nah"

As usual the Wine Press was a tiny and crowded affair, and it was all he could do to squeeze himself in against a bar. He resigned himself to his lack of visibility and did his best to ignore the taunts from the larger men who brushed past him. Some thirty minutes later he relaxed, bored and uncomfortable with the sticky heat and his lack of visibility and focused on a pretty brunette by the wall. The next moment someone was tugging vigorously on his jumper sleeve, and he looked around. One of the bar girls pointed upstairs with a worried expression, and sensing the urgency he pushed through the crowd and flew up the two flights of stairs. A moment later he found himself in the middle of a brawl, the three door men locked in battle with three strange men. Paul was pinned against the door post by a stocky Italianate youth, who in exchange for punches to the back of his head had Paul by the throat with his left hand and was biting his ear. A second stocky youth was standing off against Nobby, alternating probing kicks and punches seeking the first advantage, whilst a giant of a man had seized the third door man and was striking him at will. In an instant he hooked his arms under Paul's attacker and yanked him backwards, turning him and spinning him back into the street.

"Watch out! Back off! He's dangerous!", yelled Nobby's assailant. The other two disengaged whilst the dark haired giant, a man Rhodri figured at three hundred pounds and six and a half feet, proceeded back towards Paul grinning eagerly. Rhodri stepped between them and moved from side to side as the giant tried to make his way around towards Paul. Snarling now Rhodri leapt towards him forcing him to lurch backwards, his eyes now trained on his more immediate threat. Rhodri edged him backwards towards his two friends who were by now retreating slowly back down St.Mary Street. The Italianate youth wearing his stubble shouted back to the giant,

"Let's get outta here!"

With one mind Nobby and Rhodri advanced in parallel in pursuit of the vanquished, flushed with the heat of confrontation.

"Oi! Nobby! Rhodri! Come back here!"

Paul the manager called the two back to heel from that most auspicious of moments.

Meanwhile tensions had grown between Michael Kouros and the girls. Michael was an owner of substantial property, and for the most part regarded his student tenants as sweet smelling moth balls whom he replaced every year or so. By the standards of most student landlords Michael was a saint, he bent over backwards to fit shelves, install high quality kitchen appliances and to keep the water where it was meant to go. Rhodri had often helped him out over the summer at the house, and in small doses the playful Michael quite enjoyed his company. In turn Rhodri enjoyed Michael's impish sense of humour and admired his gifted business touch, and would enjoy the laughter of Michael's catch phrases. Unfortunately in Jennie and Rama, Michael had inherited two altogether more discerning individuals. Complaints varied from small vents without grills in the walls to the standard of the decor, and after a few short weeks Michael had commented that they thought the place was a hotel. Michael had been upset that they had come and gone over the summer without contributing towards the bills and Rhodri just shrugged his shoulders and ignored the issue as trifling. Mistrust found a new breeding ground and before long Rhodri's familiarity with the landlord bred suspicion, and before long Jennie and Rama felt uncomfortable. One evening Rhodri and Michael found themselves discussing Ron Gillman after Michael had popped by to collect the rent, a subject of mutual interest and fascination,

"How are the hotel guests then Rod?"

"Oh you mean the girls. As spirited and fiery as ever I suppose".

"Have they reimbursed you for their summer visits Rod?"

"They were only here occasionally"

"They can still help you out with the bills"

Rhodri felt uncomfortable thinking about the triviality of the amounts involved and hastily changed the subject,

"So how's old Ron, Michael?"

"Oh same old devil"

"Got an old rust heap off him after all the time I worked over the summer. I probably made little more than a pound an hour after all was said and done".

"You got screwed Rod".

Rhodri sighed,

"Yes I know, Ron's quite a character and one can't help but becoming fond of him, but he's a born devil".

Michael's face darkened and he leant forward over the bed and whispered,

"That's right Rod. I told him at the end of the summer, I said I don't want you working for me anymore Ron, because you're a thief".

Rhodri shook his head slowly from side to side and looked at the floor. At that moment Rama came in abruptly and sat down on the bed, after finishing an agitated conversation with Jennie in the living room,

"We want to know what you two have been talking about"

Michael turned his head and stared at her for a brief moment as though the crown jewels were being discussed by dignitaries,

"We're discussing BMW's. His BMW. Do you mind?".

Rama then got up and left as suddenly as she had entered, and Rhodri closed the order of business,

"Yes, I suppose you're right it is a BMW".

The irrepressible Terry came past Coburn Street from time to time. Of course the rips in the denims had become wider and more numerous and a few safety pins had been added, but generally he was still the same entertaining and friendly Terry. Inevitably, living with bachelors of the arts, Terry had strayed from the nine to seven path of science. Moving from conversations over Van Halen and Guns'n'Roses to Auberon Waugh and Johann Sebastian had been a bit of a struggle, but he was largely cheerful in his new found proximity to the Students' Union. When his former partner in crime walked through the door of the living room in Coburn Street he was sitting next to Jennie on the couch, but the conversation appeared to have been far from light-hearted.

"Hello Terry! Good afternoon Jennie!"

"Hello Terry, blah, blah, blah! How are you, you greasy punk!", Jennie sat quietly, clearly upset, "So where the fuck have you been lately?"

"Studying, working"

"I hear you're never home, and that you never go out to have fun you mother!"

"I have a lot to get done"

"Sure you do! What about your friends? Don't you see them any more?"

"Once a fortnight, when I can snatch the time"

"Don't you ever get worried about what might happen to you?"

"No not really, if anything happens then so be it"

"So be it! So be it! Listen to the stupid fuck!"

"Want a cup of tea Terry?"

"And why not you stupid mother!", and his lips curled upwards slightly.

Floyds buzzed with energy and heaved with the life force of Cardiff's thriving black culture. After a time he found his niche by the back doors of the well furnished basement club. Perched high up on the steps by the fire exit he stood watching, waiting and absorbing the energies. The rich black and blues of the people created a world that seemed distant from any with which he was familiar, and he watched the black heart of the City beating to the bass of black soul and dance music. Trouble at Floyds was graciously rare as long as no white boys dared to destroy the uniformity and harmony by their presence. Rhodri paid his hosts due respect and as long as he played by the rules nobody was hurt. There was little need for the doormen in Floyds, and when trouble appeared they tended to sort the problems out amongst themselves. There was an unwritten law that he and Alwyn, the only two white men tolerated in the club did not intercede in confrontations between blacks; that was the exclusive privilege of Obi, Alvin and the other black door men. But in turn the young blacks paid a healthy respect for Alwyn. Alwyn was John's partner and Wyvern Security's front man, a legend on the Streets of Cardiff. The Docks' boys feared and respected Alwyn, whose mind was as sharp as his axe-like jaw and penetrating eyes. Blessed with a keen business acumen, Alwyn was also a demi-god in the hard physical world of survival of the Docks' and their social environs. A mere five feet ten inches, Alwyn's back and shoulders cast a broad and mighty shadow before him, and his chiseled, powerful musculature stood out beneath even his winter cardigan. Rhodri had often mused in his time over how animal sprits would appear in human form, and in his imagination Alwyn's fierce tone and expression captured the image of a wolverine. Few challenged his fighting prowess. A third degree black belt in Shotokan, a member of the Welsh national karate team and a running back for the Cardiff Cobras American football team, his lifestyle advertised the spartan physical and mental approach that he projected to those whom he met. But despite his hard mind and hard life Alwyn had a soft spot for Rhodri, a feeling almost bordering on the paternal. Why Alwyn had decided that Rhodri's place lay on the steps overlooking Floyds he wasn't sure, but he observed the rules strictly and enforced them impartially. In their turn the blacks paid Rhodri a healthy respect. Whether it was because he lent no aura of racism or because he was known from his times at the Glitzy, the young West Indians and Somalis who frequented the club were always cautious in his presence.

Officially no one entered through or left via the back doors at Floyds, and that was why he was there. But in any society rules must be relaxed so as to preserve balance and interpreted so as to maintain the spirit of the law. From time to time he let the younger Somali 'warriors' leave by the back door. It was a simple ploy. To them it was a mark of great respect to be given privileged egress through the large wooden doors. As symbolism went it showed the young and fierce that they were always welcome in the club just so long as they behaved. For his part it was a pressure valve, when the gangs of Somalis were frustrated because the women showed little interest in their brash immaturity they would become agitated and seek other, undesirable outlets to prove their embryonic manhood. The simplest and most accessible were other men from rival black tribes. However, fearing reciprocation from the black community, stray whites and white door men were a more suitable outlet for their war-like spirits, fueled by the heady mix of testosterone and narcotics. Communication, however was not their strength and they often pushed against the limits of their privileges. After they had exited through the back door Rhodri always insisted that they could not come back in, sometimes forcibly. As every healthy majority carries an unhealthy minority, so the Somalis were no exception. He recognized a few of them from the Glitzy and knew that others had been there the night the Glitzy closed down. Most of the Somalis were tall and thin, a genetic hallmark, possessing that sinewy quality of lean strength. In combat their speed was their main asset and they fought in frenzied groups, and one could never fight one Somali without fighting them all.

Alwyn had instructed him to open the back doors because the air in the club was becoming thick with the heat, the smoke and the humidity. Friday nights at Floyds were often like that, an atmosphere saturated with life and love and he felt privileged to bask in the radiation of the black soul. It wasn't much past ten when he sensed a dark shadow grow behind him from the unlit street. Feeling the darkness he turned around slowly and cautiously to identify the threat. Two Somalis and a white friend walked towards the open door and marched through the entrance onto the plateau before the steps. Calvin was the lead man, a lean man some way short of six feet in height who proudly carried a reputation for his unbalanced mind and aggression. The white he did not recognize, but the other Somali cleared seven feet and was as muscular as he was broad. His description matched the terrified account of one of the invaders who closed the Glitzy down and his eyes were as pure black as his ebony skin. The three carried forward as though it was their prerogative and he a trifling insignificance. Rhodri stood full forward and blocked their path, as if he needed to demonstrate that this was not the entrance to the club. Calvin reacted with a sneer of contempt as he attempted to continue walking through with his company. Rhodri fell back into an attacking stance and checked Calvin's advance with his outstretched fingers, whilst his right hand hovered by his right trouser pocket. Calvin tested his resolve by pushing forward. Rhodri's fingers pushed him back. The ebony giant then thrust forward and Rhodri reached into his pocket for a knuckle-duster as he turned his stance to his left to repel the attack. Sensing his intent the giant stepped backwards, surprised at the audacity. At the back the white youth stood arms folded, laughing at the stand off. Refusing to back down Calvin turned to dialogue,

"Yo bro'! Reaching for a knife, yo's gonna be sorry for that bro', ya hear me! I's gonna serve you!"

Rhodri stared fiercely into his eyes,

"Nobody comes in through this door you know that!"

"Yo bro'! I's only comin' in ta meet some friends".

"It's four pounds at the front door! You know that!"

"Look bro' we's pays you a pound each ta com'in!"

Switching tactics to make matters impersonal, he seized the opportunity he was given to wind the situation down,

"Look bro' Alwyn's going to sack me if I take money at the door, and I'm not going to lose my job for nobody's money!"

"Can I com in bro' or no?"

"Through the front door!"

Sensing the presence and interest of Alwyn moving towards the back door Calvin retreated nervously, but not before Alwyn had seen him,

"What's the problem Rhodri?"

"These gentleman want access through the back door, I refused their money. I said you'd sack me if I did"

"Yes and that's right an' all !", Alwyn raised a menacing finger to Calvin and his giant friend, causing their eyes to fall to the floor like a pair of admonished school boys,

"I would sack him! And don't let me catch you boys bothering my door man again!"

The two slouched off with tails between their legs, but the white spirit had long since vanished.

"And Rhodri, may be if you didn't keep the back door open you wouldn't have these problems".

Duly closing the doors he rested against the bannisters on the stairs, for he had been standing there for over three hours and his legs were tired.

Stealthily the figure slipped along the ebony side rail leading towards the stairs as he received an object behind his back from a friend. Rhodri stared intently at the wall ahead of him, his buttocks resting upon his hands as he sat against the rail at the top of the stairs. In his mind's eye appeared a switchblade. His arm behind his back the dark figure crept up the stairs and alongside Rhodri, inches from his kidneys. Giving no indication of awareness or movement Rhodri looked ahead into space, watching Calvin's mind and body fixedly within his mind's eye. Calvin made the final smooth step, pinning him against the bannisters, but Rhodri did not react or even look at him. Calvin sneered with delight through his sharp features that his stealth had been successful,

"Yo' I warned you bro' I was gonna serve you", he spoke quietly and assertively, "Now's time to pay for yo' mistake"

Rhodri shot his hand into the air above Calvin's head, fingers spread and then turned his head rapidly and burned into Calvin's eyes with his own,

"Do you want to face me!", came a menacing voice from within, "Do you want to dance with me bro'!"

Calvin started to shake and he continued moving his head closer until Calvin could feel his breath,

"Do you want trouble with me bro'? Do you dare to pull a knife out on me bro'?"

Calvin looked an image of fear as he backed down the stairs under the torrent of Rhodri's gaze and outstretched hand. Rejoining the group Calvin discretely returned the knife and the little band of Somalis started to disperse as Alwyn approached,

"You having a problem Rhodri?"

"Calvin wants to serve me, I think he means he wants to..."

"Yes I know what it means!", and he turned towards the dance floor and descended a step,

"Where is he the little shit I'll teach him some manners!"

Rhodri swiftly descended and caught him by the shoulder and spoke softly,

"It's okay Alwyn. Let it go".

For two hapless white youths lady fortune was not so kind. It was another Saturday night at Floyds in late October, his last in fact, and at some time after eleven he stood at his usual station by the back door when he sensed an explosion of energy and movement behind him. Turning his gaze and then his body he saw an intense flurry of activity at the far end of the dance floor. Obi was already forcing his way through the crowd with uncharacteristic haste and urgency, and Rhodri reacted, hurtling down the flight of steps, weaving furiously through the throng. He was afforded only a glimpse of five or so figures repeatedly kicking two white youths on the dance floor and Obi and Rhodri swooped upon the now empty dance floor and swept the two unfortunate boys to safety through the back door. Their faces were both badly cut and bruised and blood dripped from open gashes. Groggy his young charge struggled to recognize his rescuer and smiled at him as though he were an oasis of security.

"Where's am I?"

"You're alright my little friend, alright"

"What happened to me?"

"You were attacked. Did you see who they were?"

"No s'all a blur. Where's my friend?"

"He's alright Obi's taking care of him"

"That's...what shall I do now?"

"Take a taxi to the Infirmary and then go home"

The owner came down from the Harmonica after he had heard the commotion and looked at Rhodri in disgust before he returned upstairs. Rhodri returned to the dance floor to search for the individuals responsible, but they had evaporated. There was no sign of Obi or the Somalis he had seen out of the corner of his mind's eye and he spat out in disgust at the fury and the blood and at the evil taste in his mouth. Some of the younger Somalis, barely seventeen by appearance, approached him at the foot of the stairs and touched the toes of his boots.

"These your's panther bro'!"

Leaning down the stairs he raised a finger in warning,

"Yes and then he pointed at his boots"

The two boys smiled at him and left in hurried excitement.

After the closing hour of two thirty the owner had private words with Alwyn by the reception. The two white youths who had been assaulted had by now returned and stood fiercely under the bright lights of the club dance floor. Still furious and agitated they appeared to be waiting for something to happen, and as Rhodri approached they began to discuss events with Alwyn.,

"He didn't do nothing! We got our fucking heads kicked in and he didn't do nothing! They're fucking scum! All of them fucking scum!", tears of frustrated anger rolled down his cheeks as he swung an angry fist at the ghosts in the air. Rhodri stood next to Alwyn and looked impassively at the two slightly built youths, who were barely eighteen. The curly haired boy turned towards him now to voice his humiliation,

"Why didn't you take care of them! You're the bleedin' bouncer ain't you!"

"I didn't see who they were and by the time I got there all I could do was take you to safety" he replied to the charge and Obi was not available to authenticate his account.

"Why didn't you ask who they were and take them outside and fuck 'em up!"

"If you take one on you take them all on", replied Rhodri unapologetically, "I'm sorry about what happened to you, but there was really nothing I could do".

The youth snapped and lunged in exasperation at Rhodri, raising his fist as if to strike. Alwyn calmly raised his hand to the boy's chest to halt his advance.

"Yes that's right", Alwyn nodded, throwing a wry little smile towards Rhodri.

"Why didn't you call the police!"

"And arrest who?", Rhodri replied, "I didn't see them. Why don't you go home and get some rest both of you", Rhodri then added in a more conciliatory tone, "And I'm sorry we can't help you or do anything about it". Alwyn signaled that the discussion was at an end, and the two youths stole off through the back door cursing under their breath.

No reason was given but when he turned up at Lloyd's the following Thursday he was told that he was now working at the Golden Cross. After enquiring where he might find such an establishment, he was informed by Alwyn that it lay on Bridge Street between the Holiday Inn and the ice rink. Walking along without great enthusiasm he found the establishment, a public house with an exterior made from green woodwork and an intricate stone mosaic and entered. As pubs went this house was no plain and dowdy watering hole, and he set of in search of the head door man. Angel was a Docks' boy and wore his badge with pride. Plump, cheerful and loquacious the two spent most of their hour's conversation reliving blow by blow accounts of Angel's most recent and heroic encounters. Many of the Docks' boys he had met were generally pleasant, and is true of any broad society with its elements of darkness and light. If one followed the simple rules of civility and respect, then no antagonism was generated and one could readily be accepted as part of the furniture. Angel and a somewhat less than communicative associate took charge of the front door and collected the admissions, while he was instructed to go inside the inn and stand in the corner.

After an uninspiring weekend at the Golden Cross where his highlight was a crab stick from a salesman, he was transferred across as sole door man of the Duke of Wellington. The Duke was, as ever, a noble and somewhat imperiously dressed man who had grown old with dignity and his war chest and scenes adorned the walls of the quiet little pub. Rhodri quite enjoyed his long discussions with the manager Andrew, a quiet intellectual man with glasses. Only regulars tended to frequent such establishments and hence Rhodri's only role was to keep one sleepy eye open for scuffles and to maintain as low key a presence as could possibly be maintained in a place where regulars liked to feel comfortable. Generally this meant that he spent most of his time chatting to Andrew over a broad selection of subjects ranging from chess to the difficulty in obtaining honest bar staff. Following two trouble free and relaxed weekends in the Duke's company he began to feel settled, despite the two day working week and his ever thinning wage packet. November's chill winds blasted by closed doors and the feeling of protection by the Duke relaxed him and left him feeling cosy inside his old pullover.

The following week he was called by Alwyn and driven to the Boardwalk as part of a makeshift team of four to supervise the fireworks display on November. Rockets exploded a myriad colours, Catherine wheels traced the eternal circle in white fire and sparklers danced the uninhibited freedoms of childrens' tiny hands. The flames roared high on the funeral pyre as the British celebrated their freedoms from the Catholic church and the Monarchy in that most abstract of ceremonies, the burning of Guy Fawkes. Whilst the Americans and the French chose to celebrate their independence from the Monarchies of the Old World with the pomp, ceremony and regal displays of their new presidential kings, every year around Britain communities formed cosy little gatherings under the cold night sky by the warmth of the fire. Huddled together with friends and family with a hot dog and a baked potato, they celebrated those most quintessential of British qualities, understatement and respect for the privilege of seven centuries of freedom.

A dark, dank tunnel disappeared under the Great Western Railway Line as it wandered across the centre of Cardiff towards his heartland of Neath and Swansea. He gazed deep into its black heart as he rounded the corner of St.Mary Street and trundled into Great Western Lane clad in his green leather coat and black uniform. The Railway bordered the southerly limits of Cardiff's thriving centre, forming the dividing line between the two territories. To the south lay the harsh poverty of the Docklands and to the north the affluence and energy of the heart of the vibrant Welsh capital. Prostitutes paraded their wares in pairs along the dimly lit streets that abutted the bridge and separated them from their home in Butetown. His view from the two doors of the Great Western, a curious mix between a pub and a club at the foot of the Lane that bore its name, painted a dreary rain swept picture of the city's dark underside. Why he had been stationed here he did not really know. Tim the other door man was pleasant enough with a mild, respectful sort of manner like so many other karate champions of their day, or so it was claimed. A veteran of the doors, Tim was married with one child and in his mid to late thirties. Quiet and firmly spoken Tim talked with maturity and a wisdom that is the preserve of those who have survived twenty years around the streets of the Docklands' and the City. Tall, distant and talkative in short bursts Tim provided Rhodri some level of companionship between the long periods of isolation as they each manned their respective door of the Great Western.

A peculiar pub, the Great Western attracted neither rich nor poor custom, and he guessed that it had long since seen its heyday. Two spiral metal staircases ascended to the hotel rooms and dining areas, whilst downstairs a long bar adjoined the two entrances separated by some twenty five yards. A lounge lay at either end of the mock station platform which was the theme of the bar, and he would read the headlines on the wallpaper fashioned after a collage of the Times newspaper. The dates of the last headlines suggested that the bar had been refurbished in eighty seven even if the clientele had not been, doubtless driven away by the decline in the surrounding area.

During his month at the Great Western trouble was as infrequent as visits from Alwyn, a man constantly troubled by the whinings of a dissatisfied manager. Tim and Rhodri were purportedly both satisfactory but Wyvern Security was not, although the manager proffered no reason as to why he was malcontent. There were always occasional stand-offs and drunks to be forcibly helped on their way out through the doors of the Great Western, but largely the pub was a quite and trouble-spared venue frequented by irregulars. Rhodri suspected that in truth he struggled to pay the rates for Wyvern's security services with a dwindling custom. Alwyn was usually in a foul mood after being called to account by the manager, and usually Rhodri was cautioned for dress standards or just insulted in passing. But Alwyn was not a man to rile, and the wisest course was to ride his fiery temper, for the tempest is always calm by morning. One Friday evening Alwyn had descended the spiral metal staircase cursing under his breath, and told them both to go home for the evening. The manager duly appointed two favoured henchmen to cover the doors, but as though to prove Alwyn's point that weekend saw so much trouble at the Great Western that Rhodri, Tim and Wyvern Security were promptly reinstated.

Internationals were to door men as April is to accountants. People and their money would flock from all over the Country into the capital as the Welsh Rugby team fought for glory and honor on the hallowed turf of Cardiff Arms Park the national temple of Welsh rugby. To the door man this meant heaving clubs and pubs from eleven on Saturday morning until three o'clock the following Sunday. Tribes of business men and valley men drank heavily from eleven and staggered from pub to pub before carrying onwards to the Arms Park. At five waves of revelers would spill out into the pubs and finally the clubs of a City alive to the spirit of what it meant to be Welsh. Many just came into the city to be a part of the atmosphere, but for every tribe an international meant there had to be stories of legendary conquests of full-bodied women and manful encounters witnessed in the bars and in the streets on that great day. Scuffles with drunken men started at eleven and carried through until the small hours when the door men were all exhausted, their nerves drained by the strain of bodies and bustle. He had served his first international tour of duty at Floyds and the Harmonica, and the long day at the Great Western was only his second international. The day of the international arrived and the bar thrived as executive suits embarked upon the final leg of their traditional crawl from one public house to another, buying inflated rounds on the hospitality of their expense accounts. Little trouble came with them as they stopped for refreshment during their migration to the Mecca of Welsh Rugby, which lay a few hundred yards beyond.

After three the place became deserted with the exception of a dozen or so men from the Fairwater estate who had no tickets to the game. Rhodri watched with detached interest as good-natured laughs and roars turned to bellows and cries. Before long beer was thrown for entertainment and before long the glasses it came in.

"Stop it all of you!", Rhodri yelled forcibly, "Or I'll have to ask you all to leave!"

A moment of silence lay between the surprised reaction of the individual and the response of the pack.

"Why and what are you going to do about it?", yelled a drunken youth from the corner, and yet another followed his lead, throwing more beer in defiance. The boisterous roar grew again and Rhodri drew closer, his tired, emaciated frame of fewer than one hundred and forty pounds trying to be heard above the roar,

"Right that's enough!"

"Says who?", cried another voice followed by a cacophony of guffaws and yells,

"Me!", and he strode over into the middle and seized a beer glass wielded as a missile. The large drunken man laughed loudly and encouraged the others to join him. Despairing, Rhodri cast his head up to the heavens in frustration. Tim duly arrived, his imposing frame and black features casting the shadow of popular Docks' folklore into their subconcious minds,

"I want you all out of here now!", Tim stated firmly, "If any of you tries anything, I'll finish the one who moves first!"

Tim grabbed a beer glass from a hand and pulled the chair from underneath its owner who promptly fell upon the ground. Slowly and surely the dozen or so left silently and sheepishly, for they were not the type who fought for fighting's sake. As the last of them departed he turned to Rhodri and spoke to his soul,

"You're in the wrong job mate", and Rhodri's soul nodded in agreement as Tim patted him on the shoulder.

Long days in the University, long weekend evenings on the door and the four remaining evenings during the week he spent locked in his room catching up with his studies. All in all his lifestyle did not lend itself to a rich social existence. When invited out he was generally not available, and when he was available people had long since given up asking. What passed for a social life consisted of coffee breaks in the University with his colleagues and occasional visits to friends' houses scattered around Cardiff's centre. Occasionally he would snatch a mid-week evening or afternoon with Helen, Nicki and Sarah Evans who lived with Mark in Roath, or he would walk up to Crwys Road in Cathays to visit Wynn and his friends from the Cardiff University rugby side. The fraternity of rugby players made him feel welcome, and in their tolerant and open-minded view of the world any physical male whose life extended beyond the narrow limitations of study and white collar work was eligible to be accepted by the pack. Rhodri enjoyed their generosity of spirit and felt at home with their harmless humour and boyish sense of fun.

Affairs were not going well in the house at Coburn Street. The months of inhaling smoke at Floyds had given him a persistent chest infection, and the chill of his downstairs room in the house merely exasperated his condition. He had bought a small electric fire and this had soon become the scapegoat for the size of their electricity bills. Further, his lack of attention to washing the sink and shower after use had upset the girls and Jennie in particular. Loud music that he played on the few occasions that he was in the house was an additional irritant, as was virtually any behaviour manifested by an estranged male. Jennie could frequently be heard complaining to her friends bitterly about the fall from grace of her former social standard bearer, and he was stung by one conversation he overheard with one of Jennie's closest confidants,

"Honestly last year you couldn't have wished to have met a nicer boy! He was always polite and charming and he even escorted the ladies at night to ensure that they arrived safely. Now we can't seem to get a polite word from him. He makes a mess, he has no social life, he never goes out and he's involved in all of this nasty bouncing work, I mean how ridiculous really!"

There was little doubt that he had fallen below Jennie's basic social standards, and he knew well that he was in the process of being ostracized. He was very surprised to overhear circulating allegations from people who were not known to Coburn Street, claiming that someone had intentionally left his fire on all day to run up the electricity bill. But as it is impossible to strenuously deny a rumour without giving it credence he maintained his silence, feeling dismayed that things could have been so distorted. Worst of all, the bills were exclusively in his name and he had already paid the connection charges for gas, electricity and telephone. Affairs were set for crisis, and he felt the impending storm as the first collective quarterly charges were due. In order to avert the forthcoming dispute he calculated all the charges and distributed the responsibilities as twenty percent for each of the three ladies and forty for himself.

Paynie, Jennie's boyfriend sought to ease tensions when he popped his head round the living room door and approached Rhodri with the intent of pouring oil over troubled waters. "Listen Rhodri, the girls are upset over the bills", he said, pulling up a chair and leaning forward as friendly souls are want to do, "They feel that you were here over the summer and have run up more of the bills than they have, especially the telephone".

"I hardly use the telephone Paynie", came the soft and subdued response, "The hundred and sixty pound telephone bill is largely theirs"

"Well the girls don't see it that way, and they are unhappy. Jennie works hard for her money".

"I've offered to pay forty percent to their twenty Paynie and I'm hardly rolling in money myself"

"Okay Rhodri", added Paynie smiling, "I'll talk to them and see what I can do", and his wise old friend duly used his charm to persuade them to settle for the twenty percent, and Rhodri heard him and smiled.

Ultrabodies was typical of a bodybuilders' gym. Occupying a spacious floor above the shop front it boasted a wholesome array of racks, machines and benches. Painted in metallic blue to mark the changes that had taken place since the early days of medieval torture, the devices matched the carpet and contrasted neatly with the white of the walls. Frequented by the iron men of the city, the gym was designed to be functional rather than pleasant, and unlike the sleepy little town of Kettering the hard men came exclusively to train, this was no social club. A couple of times a week he would work out for old times sake, though he had long since lost both his mass and conditioning. It was an act of faith for him, as he felt nude without the muscles and physique that had marked a misspent youth in a gym inhabited by professional bodybuilders and the hard men. He was in the habit of combining his visit to Ultrabodies with his weekly shopping, and on one occasion he had carried his groceries into the changing rooms upstairs and left them there whilst he went downstairs to train. He was not far into his routine before he spotted Alwyn's powerful, brawny form sitting beneath the shoulder press in a red tank top. A large tattoo adorned his right arm below the shoulder, with the inscription 'Who dares wins' emblazoned across the symbol of a dagger, and he murmured his recognition in respectful astonishment. Alwyn had not told him that he had served with the SAS, and this merely added another dimension of respect towards an instinctively credible man.

"Who's left their bleedin' shopping upstairs on the floor!", a voice bellowed from the reception.

"It's mine!", replied Rhodri.

"Get it 'outta here, and you with it, we don't want your sort in these parts!", shouted the tall and well fleshed owner. Rhodri started to walk his head barely erect, but a growl started from behind,

"Let him be! He's doing no harm and he's one of my door men! If anyone has a problem with one of my door men they'll have me to answer to!", and his mighty frame rose from the seat and turned towards the owner.

"Okay Alwyn! It's no problem!", the owner's voice had gone up an octave or two. Rhodri turned and walked towards his patron and stood by Alwyn who seemed otherwise tired and out of sorts,

"Thank you Alwyn"

"That's all right Rhodri", came a deep sigh.

"Don't you think you've been working too hard Alwyn?", Rhodri asked his soul softly.

"As long as I have my company and my training that's all I need", he said quietly without a hint of aggression, convincing himself that his hard life had not drawn heavily upon his spirit. Rhodri sensed the pain and dared not probe further into the sensitivities of a powerful and unpredictable man.

"Want to work in with me?", Alwyn asked. Rhodri looked at the array of heavy discs adorning the bar and said,

"No thank you very much Alwyn, I think I would be out of my depth"

Assignments towards the end of November became irregular and he found himself sent to various venues from Roath to Penarth Road, and some nights he would have no work at all. Matters finally came to a head when he called at the end of November to find that there was no work for him at all that weekend. Alwyn had given him his word that he would find him a club, but Rhodri felt unconvinced by his apparent lack of urgency. Frustrated by the inconsistencies, the low pay and the loss of self-respect that accompanies the position of a loose end his instinctive loyalty began to wander. That he had to work there was no question, his covenant barely covered the rent and bills and he wanted to escape the cycle of debt and dependence that had pursued him and so many other students he knew. Thoughts and imaginations turned cartwheels in his mind as he strolled along Park Place at December's birth away from the realm of the sun. A two hour aperture between lecture and experimental class had led him to wander the half mile between University and town centre in search of sustenance. Light drizzle fell steadily from the grey skies, but this was no deterrent to someone from the Valleys. The warm interiors of the lounges of hotels and restaurants seemed especially inviting, the golden glow from the window scenes a beacon to those entrapped outside in a wet, grey world. As he passed it did not escape his attention that a major redevelopment was taking place in the plush little part of Park Place that adjoined Queen Street. To his left was the familiar splendour of the Park Hotel, but to his right an exotic development of woods and fine furnishings had sprung up, conjuring images of the days of the Raj in his mind. Huge plate glass windows emblazoned with the word Henry's in flowing green and gold lettering afforded the passer by a clear view of the old world. Stopping to obtain a closer look, he marveled at the rich, dark parquet flooring which led to assorted carpeted platforms. Bamboo furniture upholstered with elegant patterns of reds and greens provided a lighter contrast to the dark browns of the bannisters and floors, and the furniture was ringed by potted shrubs and assorted trees from the tropics. A restaurant area lay towards the back of the spacious interior with yellow walls that reflected the golden hues of the wall lamps onto the rich dark sheen of the parquet floor that separated the four island platforms from the passage to and from the bar. At the centre of the floor, golden fittings highlighted a polished hardwood bar, the focus of Welsh community life. He sensed the doors with glass panels and brass handles inviting him to cross the threshold even though the establishment did not yet appear to be open for business. But there, in the left hand corner of the window platform four men sat intently in conference around a table over a cup of coffee.

Seizing upon his instincts he pushed the door open and ascended the four wooden steps after a brief glance at the elegant mosaic flooring and brass plate that marked the short entrance well. Smiling confidently he boldly approached the four men whose formal meeting appeared to have come to an end.

"Good evening gentlemen"

A surprised face wearing a handsome moustache and a warm and friendly expression looked up at him,

"Good day to you young sir and what can we do for you?"

"I was passing by and I came to wondering. Do you gentlemen already have security arrangements in hand for the opening of this establishment?"

The man with the friendly moustache and dark brown hair answered,

"No, funny you should ask. We were just discussing that. Please have a seat and come and join us".

With confidence and due reservation, he pulled a bamboo seat from under the table and sat down.

"Hello", said the friendly moustache, "I'm the manager Mark Stallion, this is Ray my assistant", he pointed to a thin and balding man with a lean frame and acne, "And to my left are my two section heads from Whitbread's, Michael Ronson and Peter Stirling"

"Pleasure to meet you gentlemen, Rhodri Walters", Rhodri replied shaking hands with due formality and a warm manner for he felt right at home.

"So what can we do for you?"

"I believe that you gentlemen might be requiring security personnel for your new venture and I wonder if I might be able to help"

"Yes we do indeed", replied Mr.Ronson with a twinkle in his eye.

"Have you had other enquiries?"

"Yes, we had a gentleman...from Wyvern Security I believe it was, come round and talk to us earlier this afternoon", he paused for a second and stroked his chin, "Have you worked in security before Mr.Walters?", asked Mr.Ronson.

"I used to work with Castle Leisure as a doorman, and I've worked as a door man at half a dozen or so establishments in the Cardiff centre since then".

"You're a professional door man?"

"Yes and no. I'm a full time science student at Cardiff University, but I work as a door man in the evenings"

"Well you sound like just the man were looking for", added Mr.Stirling with a positive tone to his voice, "Allow me to explain. We have just established a chain of Henry's cafe bars in the country, we have one in London and this will be our third operation. Henry's operates an all day continental style service from breakfast at seven until eleven at night, and we have applied for a license to operate until two a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays. We believe we will need at least two door men seven nights a week at least for the initial period after opening". Rhodri's eyes lit up as he imagined the sums involved,

"At least", he agreed.

"Can you find a partner?", asked Mr.Ronson, "You seem polite and as though you know what you are doing. If you can find a partner you may have the contract".

"For six, seven pounds an hour yes", Mr.Ronson nodded, "Can I meet you on Friday at twelve when I have agreed upon a partner?"

"Certainly", said Mark of the friendly moustache and the warm smile.

Rhodri wandered back towards his practical class munching a sandwich as he considered who the most suitable partner might be. The candidate had to be black, that was obvious. Two white door men could not sell a rejection to a well dressed Somali from the Docks, besides it gave balance and symmetry to the door, a most essential facet. He was a natural front man, polite and formal with an eye for a potential trouble maker. But he needed a heavier man who could fight in support if needs be, and more importantly act as a deterrent. Nobby crossed his mind briefly, but he neither knew or trusted him fully. Obi was the obvious choice. Mature, powerful, authoritative. That was that, he would seek his consent at Lloyd's on Thursday night. Obi was a business man and Rhodri was convinced that he could hire his services for six, maybe seven pounds an hour. Besides it would be easy money for him, in fact it would be almost an early and golden retirement.

Thursday evening came and as he had suspected he received no call from Wyvern Security asking him to work that night or indeed any evening that weekend. Donning a black suit with black shirt, suit and tie to complete the effect, he let the front door of Coburn Street close with a bang. At nine he found himself strolling through the cold December mists of old St.Mary Street with a renewed air of confidence and a swagger in his stride. Pausing at the wooden door that marked the entrance to the Harmonica, he asked the man with the pony-tail if he could come in and talk to Obi. With unusual responsivity the pony tail disappeared downstairs and soon after Obi replaced him at the door,

"Yes what can I do for you Roddy?", came the familiar coarse and sharp reply.

"I have a contract for a cafe bar and I was wondering if you might be interested for six or seven pounds an hour"

"Come inside", Obi bent forward and looked from side to side along the street and followed him into the club. The two descended the stairs and stopped by reception in Floyds.

"Tell me more", he said with brusque enquiry.

"Henry's? That's the new cafe bar that's opening next week by the Park Hotel?"

"Ah huh"

"Well I have just obtained the contract for myself and one other door man to work the place seven nights a week. We can work in a third if needs be. Interested?"

"Well I'll let you know", came the terse reply, but with Obi you never did, as with all good door men he never showed his emotions; it allowed the customer to read you and take advantage.

"When?"

"Come back later tonight"

Rhodri felt unconvinced by this reply and started to reflect upon alternative candidates as he stepped back onto St.Mary Street. There was only one obvious candidate, that was clear. Someone had let slip the fact that Nobby had fallen from favour with Alwyn, easily done he thought and no bad character reference, and that Nobby was currently in disgrace working the door of a rather unsavoury hotel at the bottom of St.Mary Street. So he turned right and walked the remaining two hundred yards to the Paradise hotel. Unsightly it most certainly was, and he pushed open the saloon style doors and reluctantly entered. A plain wooden floor, a bar and an entourage of well worn prostitutes and pimps, or so he guessed from the excessive lipstick, frilly tops and short hip length skirts. Nobby was in his by now familiar red, white and blue standing by the side of the door, looking most preoccupied by thoughts of deep resentment.

"Hello Nobby", he approached extending a hand.

"Oh hello Roddy!", his face appeared to light up and a smile returned to his troubled visage, "What bring you here?"

"You Nobby"

He laughed and mopped his brow with his red kerchief,

"How so?"

"Got a door contract at a nice new cafe bar, six pounds an hour if you're interested, just the two of us"

"Ooooo!", Nobby's lips pursed and his eyes grew wide, "That's good money that is".

"Yes, nice work if you can get it. Starts next Monday if you're interested"

"Hang on!", his face became serious and his eyes darkened. He stared into space and lifted a finger as if to test the wind, "Let me first ask the spirits!"

Rhodri watched the pantomime impassively, yet he sensed a sincerity and felt an energy that lent some small credibility to his actions.

"No! Not right now! The spirits say that it is not the right moment, may be later. We will take the contract later! I cannot move now!"

"Well I'm terribly sorry old bean the contract's for right now. See you around", and the dark black suit left the bright blue one in the corner and departed Paradise lost with a sigh of relief.

Now he had some serious thinking to do. If neither Obi or Nobby were available that left him no suitable black candidate that he could trace except through Wyvern Security and its establishments.

"Fool", he exclaimed out loud chiding himself, "No door man equals no contract, and tomorrow's the days. Now let me see, how do we feel, may be one more venture into Floyd's?"

This time he just ignored the pony tail and walked straight in and down the stairs, assuming the air of a regular Wyvern door man who simply didn't have to justify his entry into headquarters. As he came through the corridor he espied Obi at the back of the club and moved hurriedly towards him. At that point a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder. Rhodri had a strange feeling he knew who it was,

"Looking for somebody Rhodri", he slowly rotated his head and saw Alwyn's square head and pointed chin with a thin beard neatly tracing the line of his jaw bone, as was the fashion, "I've been hearing bad things about you Rhodri!" His voice resonated with severity and then he paused, "I've heard that you've been going around getting contracts on your own behind my back!"

"Oh really now and who pray told you that?", his response was defiant and probing.

"Never you mind who told me that", he voice had softened in volume, but not in tone, "I heard that you went and took a contract that I was in for behind my back!"

Alwyn's line of enquiry was uncomfortably close to the truth,

"Oh, you mean Henry's?"

"Yes that's right", Alwyn nodded slowly and gave Rhodri a knowing look.

"Well is there a law against that?", retorted Rhodri, "Funny really, because I got the impression that you weren't employing me any more"

Alwyn's face softened to humour and his eyes sparkled,

"Well I'll tell you what Rhodri! If you help me to get that contract, then I'll make you one of the two door men, now how's that?"

Rhodri stirred the idea around in his mind and looked pensive as if he had a great many options to consider. Then he looked up at Alwyn slowly and opened an eye as if a possible compromise had beckoned,

"Come to Henry's on Friday at twelve",

Alwyn nodded.

Rhodri arrived in his best blue-grey suit at twelve the next day to find that Alwyn and John were already standing next to the large and ornate hardwood bar at Henry's, dressed in their Welsh team track suits chatting to the manager Mark Stallion and the visiting executives.

"Hello there!", smiled Mark, "We've been expecting you".

"Good afternoon gentlemen", and Rhodri proffered a slight bow.

"So have you found a partner?", asked Mr.Ronson with a hint of doubt in his voice.

"This is Mr.Alwyn Bayter and Mr.John Falcon of Wyvern Security", he cast his eyes downwards and then raised them with a more forceful spirit, "I work for them and they manage myself and other door men of equivalent caliber. If you give them with the contract then they have agreed to supply you with another door man of my level".

Mark Stallion seemed convinced and appeared to have already made up his mind that he wanted Rhodri, and from there on in it was an easy sell.

"Well that seems to be settled then", added Mr.Ronson, "You gentlemen can finalize arrangements with Mr.Stallion later".

Alwyn bent his face around his broad shoulder and smirked at Rhodri with a little sparkle in his eye. Formalities were then finalized as the three shook hands with their counterparts firmly and exchanged winning smiles. As they turned to leave Alwyn's strong hand descended firmly on Rhodri's right shoulder accompanied by another smile.

Alwyn, John and Rhodri got to talking as they rounded the corner of Park Place and walked out onto Queen Street and John raised the issue of Rhodri's prospective partner,

"I think we'll has Nobby join with Roddy. I think they make a good team you know", and he chuckled cheerfully as if he had just seen his little son walk for the first time. Alwyn nodded and exchanged grins with John and then tilted his head downward and looked affectionately at the smaller figure who strode between them. John's ambling stride quickened as at last he turned his attentions to his prized recruit,

"So well then Roddy, better get you's some smart clothes for the new job then uh?"

Rhodri recognized that unmistakable glint in his eye.

"Something nice and better than that antique piece of shit you wore at Floyds", added Alwyn courteously. Rhodri felt it wisest to smile sweetly and say nothing, at least for the moment. The blue-grey suit and two baggy red, white and green track suits made a right through the doors of the large modern shopping centre with its potted tropical plants, white walls, skylights and explosion of light and colour. After perusing the shop fronts Alwyn started another conversation with John to pass the time,

"We're goin' to have to send a car up to Pontypridd tonight, Pete and the boys are expecting trouble. Last week seven of them showed up to have a go at the door men, and two of my door men got lashed. They've threatened to come back tonight so I'm going to take Obi, Neil and Dai up tonight in my car", Alwyn laughed, "And we'll soon see how hard those boys really are!"

John smiled and nodded as they stopped outside Top Man and John showed Rhodri inside with the palm of his hand,

"Be my guest".

Rhodri headed over to the tuxedo rack and picked out a Young's size forty two and checked the price tag. One hundred and twenty pounds, not extravagant, so he tried the jacket on.

"No Rhodri", Alwyn shook his head as he removed the jacket from Rhodri and returned the suit to the rack. Reaching for a Pierre Cardin suit of a slightly smaller size he jerked it roughly from the rack and thrust it into Rhodri's arms,

"And don't worry about the price we'll take it out of your first month's wages". Alwyn's voice was firm and impassive. Again Rhodri said nothing as he had learnt that forcefulness was best circumvented. The jacket fitted nicely. Comfortable, but not too loose and not too long in the sleeve. Alwyn turned to him again,

"That'll do, do you have some wing collared shirts?"

"Yes"

"Starch them on the collar. Got the bow ties and handkerchiefs John?"

"Yes I's working on that, green they said they wanted, go's with the cafe front ah"

Alwyn took the suit and added it to the green silk paraphernalia on the cashier's desk and the young brunette looked haughtily at the three less than elegantly dressed men in front of her. Looking at Alwyn with practiced surprise she gave him a look of astonishment,

"And how do you intend to pay for that sir ?"

Alwyn returned the look of contempt, and Rhodri and John sneered at the material arrogance of the cashier. A cold silence descended upon the four of them. Alwyn reached slowly and deliberately inside his track suit pocket with his right hand and withdrew four thick bundles of notes and threw them on the counter in front of her,

"How much?", he asked sarcastically.

"Two ten sir", came a markedly more subdued response. Alwyn removed the band from the nearest bundle and counted four fifties and a ten and threw them down in front of her, returning the remaining bundles to his pocket,

"Can I have a receipt please"

He shot her another derisory look and the three left the shop and regained their sense of humour. Stopping at the entrance to the shopping centre John looked at Rhodri and smiled at his new, most favoured recruit,

"You's and Nobby starts at seven on Monday, here's your nice suit and tie. I'll sees you around soon". Alwyn and John shot Rhodri a parting smile and went their separate way congratulating one another heartedly.

Rhodri and Nobby stood in front of Henry's at seven on Monday as an icy chill wind blew past. It was only the second week of December and already winter had sunk its sharp teeth into the Capital. As with all grand openings their sole function was to greet the guests courteously and to open the doors for the invited members of a privileged elite. The cold brass of the door handles sapped the heat from their hands and after a short while Nobby had realized that it was an unpleasant task and delegated it exclusively to Rhodri. It was clear from the outset that Nobby was not content working at Henry's, and it was not due to the intense cold or because he did not like to be stationed outside the front door. There was a nagging resentment at the back of Nobby's mind, Rhodri could feel it, but his impassioned features gave no indication as to what it might be. Nobby just stood and stared ahead for the first week as if he did not wish to communicate with him, or indeed any of the train of people from Cardiff's upper echelons who poured steadily through the ornate front door. For his part Rhodri quite enjoyed savouring the atmosphere of the well mannered and well tailored gentlemen and their glittering and colourful companions. He suspected that Nobby might be jealous, but there was no indication that this was the case, so after fascinating over his partner's behaviour, or rather the lack of it, he merely shrugged his shoulders and felt pleased that the days of three pounds an hour and unspeakable violence were for now behind him.

Every night during the first weeks Alwyn would drive by in his metallic blue Datsun 240Z and walk about inside after checking up on his door men. Alwyn was much as a junior with a new shiny toy, and he would come by to glance at his showpiece security establishment whenever possible until he tired of it. Rhodri imagined that such a flagship could be used to convince other up-market clients that Wyvern Security could cater to their needs. Although he wasn't quite sure how much money they were making from the Henry's contract, he knew that other establishments paid Wyvern six pounds an hour, from which they took the national insurance and gave their door men three. Naturally he assumed that this was more lucrative, especially since he had been offered six pounds an hour before negotiation and with no overheads of employment. But this line of thought was not healthy and so he dropped it and concentrated on his work. Basking in the warm glow of the lights upon the pavement, he enjoying glimpses of healthy times being enjoyed by the remnants of a healthy society and he felt at ease even though the cold wind bit his hands.

Mark was a breath of fresh air. Confident and good natured he bubbled with enthusiasm and smiled whenever there was the slightest pretext for optimism. A man of average height, average weight and a well above average personality, Mark was a popular manager. By nature a hard worker he brought a sense of fun with him to the job as he struggled with the accounts, the ordering, the staff, the pay roll and his countless other duties. Mark rose at six and finished at two in the morning but did so with due grace and a lust for life. Professional as he was, he did not tend to mix socially with the employees, keeping his assistant managers and the other staff a healthy distance from the decision making process.

Mark had been allocated two assistant managers. Yvonne was a pleasant lady of Italianate background and performed her duties efficiently and with the minimum of fuss, and when she had finished her duties she disappeared as swiftly as her busy social life demanded. Occasionally she was remarked upon for her frumpy style of dress and the general absence of smartness that Henry might otherwise have expected of her. Ray however, was an altogether different species. His slight build lent him an exaggerated impression of height, as Ray had a frail and altogether unhealthly appearance with a smattering of acne and a thin designer beard following the line of his jaw. Ray spoke with the excessive authority of one who thirsts for power but lacks the confidence to wield it, and Rhodri noticed that he derived great pleasure from exercising his limited dominion over his bar staff. But Ray was not malevolent, and beneath the swashbuckling exterior he was a sweet, sensitive and easily influenced man, proud of his Mancunian origins and desperately needing to be loved and respected. Mark and Ray however, did not get along especially well. Mark teased Ray over his mannerisms and adolescent bravado, whilst Ray appeared to annoy Mark incessantly over aspects of his competence. Quite simply their chemistry was reactive and their personalities incompatible with a happy coexistence. Mark would frequently come outside to talk to Nobby and Rhodri, confidants outside his private staff, and after a week the three of them were chatting together merrily as if they had been good friends for years.

It was only the first Friday after they had formally opened to the public, and Mark stepped outside into the fresh, crisp air to check the door and snatch a friendly word,

"Hiya Harry!", Mark grinned at Rhodri, "Hiya Nobby! How are you two boys tonight?"

"Hallo boss!", laughed Nobby.

"What's the score on the doors boys?"

"Only male Channel and female Vogue models tonight Mark, and only if they're well dressed, over twenty five and not wearing jeans!", joked Rhodri. Mark laughed,

"Very good, very good! Keep it up boys! Remember now jackets and ties and over twenty fives. I like the customers you're sending me 'cause they're spending good money in here!"

"How's business?", asked Rhodri.

"Bloody unbelievable really! We're going to take over four thousand on the bar alone tonight!"

Nobby laughed,

"Well don't forget to take it home with you boss!"

"I wish I could, I think I'm going to need both of you to escort me to the safety deposit box!"

After a half hour or so Ray strolled over and burst through the saloon doors, twirling his key chain around his finger and chewing imaginary gum,

"Hallo, how's it going boys?"

"Okay boss!", charmed Nobby.

Rhodri decided not to make the mistake of saying what came to mind,

"We're having a good evening Ray, no major problems, only one drunk who didn't know which way it was to Stamps!"

Ray nodded as if he was bored tearless too,

"Lousy weather huh guys?"

"We adapt to it", Rhodri replied shortly.

"Any nice girls?"

Nobby, intelligent and sensitive as he was, spotted Ray's needs and came alive,

"We's getting some real nice pussy coming through this door for you boss!"

"Oh excellent!", and Ray's face lit up, "That's just what I need that is, some perks of the job! Just send them through the door and tell them to ask for Ray!"

Nobby laughed and elbowed Ray in the side, and even Rhodri managed a smile,

"Even get some leg for young Rhodri here!", Ray grinned trying to establish a rapport.

"Oh we'll find someone desperate enough!", Nobby teased in good humour. At that moment an attractive lady walked out alone through the door and gave Rhodri a rather obvious and suggestive glance. Ray laughed excitedly and Nobby chuckled,

"Hey look Rhodri! Quick there goes a babe there!", clamored Ray, pointing with his finger as she rounded the corner. Following the flow of the fun, Rhodri waited a second and then shot after her as if a dog on heat. Predictably Ray and Nobby burst into peals of laughter. Rhodri returned with the look of a bemused hunter and Ray went inside to tell everyone his amusing story about door men and attractive women.

People came to Henry's in their finery, because it was a place where refined people came to spend their money. Henry's was not a place to be, it was the place to be. Doors were opened for you, and one was treated as a valued customer from the moment one entered the establishment until the fond and friendly good night that accompanied departure. Rhodri had observed that when people wore their best apparel, they were invariably on their best behaviour. People craved the energy and the ambience of the smartest new place in town, and even favoured regulars found themselves turned away politely when they arrived in their jeans. Their first full Saturday at Henry's came as the first hint of snow purified the grey pavements of the Capital. Bitter cold permeated their Pierre Cardin suits and their thin shirts and vests and Rhodri shivered and struggled to keep his face free from the expressions of discomfort. Nobby did not appear troubled by the chill breeze and refused even to shiver and Rhodri guessed, correctly, that Nobby was indeed a hard man. After a time Ray came outside to join them, key ring twirling,

"Hallo boys, how's things", he stated coolly as he slipped through the saloon doors with effortless grace.

"Hiya boss!"

"Evening Ray"

"Any problems!"

"So far so good boss!", and Nobby elbowed him to complete the male bonding ceremony. Ray chewed his gum slowly against his cheek,

"How are the bar staff doin' boss?", giggled Nobby with the addition of another elbow and a wink.

"Oh she's very good thank you", responded Ray raising his eyebrows.

"I bet she is!", laughed Nobby, "You're a real cool mover boss!"

"Oh really! Actually I think she moved on me!", and he puffed out his rib cage.

"What's her name Ray?", asked Rhodri with irrepressible curiosity.

"Never you mind?", he answered with playground maturity, "Let's just say she's goes down under!", and he raised his eyelids and receding hairline. Nobby laughed in appreciation and Rhodri stared in surprise at the quality of Nobby's acting. Then he turned and gave Ray a contemptuous look. There was only one Australian behind the bar, and she was a pleasant and reserved blonde.

"John Falcon came round today", Ray added, weaving his shoulders from side to side and adopting a boxing posture, "Asked me if I wanted to work out with him! He's the world karate number one you know!"

"Yes I know boss! Good for you!"

Rhodri acknowledged John's master political stroke with a slight nod, there was after all no better way of staying the favour of a lucrative contract than to pander to its ego.

"Says he's gonna' teach me some moves!"

"Well that'll be good for you!", added Rhodri, concealing his thoughts, "Excuse me Sir, you'll need a tie tonight I'm afraid"

"What a tie to get into a bar!"

"Yes Sir, after seven it's jacket and tie required I'm afraid. House rules, but we look forward to seeing you again soon Sir".

"Don't bloody believe it!"

"Thank you sir, good night"

"Bloody arsehole!", added Ray after the burly rugby physique had disappeared beyond earshot, "Doesn't he understand a simple rule"

Three youths approached the door dressed in blazers, shirts and ties. Rhodri instantly recognized the shaven streaks of hair and the golden ear rings as typical of Fairwater and Ely fashions, and closed the door behind the previous customer,

"Good evening gentlemen, may I ask your ages"

"I's twenty five, he's twenty six and so's he"

"Do you have your driver's licenses with you gentlemen"

"No I ain't brought mine"

"I'm afraid I'm going to need them tonight gentlemen".

"Why's that!", asked the larger of the three stepping forward, "We're over eighteen and smart like"

"Yes you are Sir, very smart, but the management requests over twenty five years of age".

"Don't believe you!"

"Are you calling him a liar!", demanded Ray cleverly throwing the attack back.

"See that girl there in the left hand corner! I knows her, she's not twenty!"

"I am not aware Sir that she is under twenty five, nor do I have evidence that you know that she is".

"Fucking bullshit!", shouted the youth advancing threateningly. Nobby took his jacket off and handed it to Ray, and then slipped Rhodri's off his shoulders. Taking his black leather gloves from his pocket Rhodri fastened the Velcro straps about his wrists without taking his eyes from his opponents as if a fight were imminent.

"Not tonight gentlemen", he added with an air of finality. He and Nobby adopted blank faces and steeled themselves for action.

"Come along Andy !", shouted a youth at the back, "They're not worth giving a hiding to!", and the three estate boys walked off.

"Oh sure as if you could!", shouted Ray excitedly. "Good job boys!", he added patting Nobby on the back.

"Spot them a mile away", said Rhodri. Ray puffed out his chest and pulled the saloon doors open and strolled in as if he'd sorted out some real serious trouble.

The Friday before Christmas was one of those nights an experienced door man can feel in his bones. Inexplicably the atmosphere carries a certain tension, no matter how still the air or the streets. Spirits followed the festive Season into the bloodstream of Cardiff's business men who for once ventured in search of merriment to the bar rather than their homes after their day at the office. Expensive suits, crease-less shirts and million dollar smiles, the door was opening and closing faster than a turnstile. Less than forty minutes later Nobby and Rhodri found themselves extracting a couple of two hundred pound executives from a furious tangle upon the floor in front of the busy bar, both their jackets torn at the seams. Rhodri struggled as he dragged a tall silver haired man with a dangling sleeve from underneath a stout man with dark curly hair who was grappling with Nobby. The silver haired man, apparently in his late forties straightened his frame to his full six feet and a quarter, his face flushed with blood as Rhodri caught his breath. Nobby, altogether a more powerful man, had few problems as he restrained the large curly man who was later recounted as having referred to the other man's wife as an old horse and neighed. Once again the two bespirited knights of the boardroom table caught site of one another and their faces grew red with anger as they flailed their arms. Nobby found himself dragged across the parquet floor by the arms of the bull, whilst Rhodri was forced from desperation to put the distinguished gentleman into an arm lock, forcing his noble face towards the ground. Unfortunately giving away some hundred pounds in weight did not secure his position of restraint, and slowly and surely an ever reddening executive straightened and lifted Rhodri off the floor. Fortune smiled in the form of a bar man who rushed over and seized the man from behind around his shoulders,

"This isn't good behaviour", he shouted to Rhodri and the bar man and a packed audience, "You door men are behaving like louts not gentlemen!"

"Bleedin' hell!", cried Nobby as he received a wild punch to the face as he struggled to carry his bull out through the front doors.

Ray saw the funny side of things and ventured outside to provide some light relief some twenty minutes later after Nobby and Rhodri had cooled off in the December night air. He had not stepped out two minutes before three valley boys with unshorn curly locks and ear-rings rolled up to the front door with training shoes and open neck shirts. Regrettably they did not seem intent upon the door itself,

"Right see that blackie, he looked at me funny!", alleged a fair haired man with a generous belly.

"And that poncey boy in the suit an' all !", cried another man with dark curls, as the three strolled towards them faces flushed with machismo and beer.

"We're goin' inside blackie!", stated the dark haired man with dark eyes and scarlet cheeks.

"I'm afraid that admission is not allowed without dress shoes and ties gentlemen", started Rhodri.

"Ah fuck off! Who asked you poncey boy!", shouted the fat man with fair hair advancing upon Rhodri, "Are we goin' inside lads?"

"Yes we's goin' inside!", came the deciding vote to their rear.

"Are we's goin' for the watch routine or the shoelace routine?", asked the fair haired man.

"They's might be good, better goes for the shoelace", replied the darker man and the fat man with fair hair crouched down in front of Rhodri and fiddled with his shoelace, crouching low preparing to throw a thinly disguised uppercut.

"I don't knows Ralphie. This one looks ready to kick ya's", drawled the third man with no outstanding features of interest, "You don't knows with these small bounca's, somes of them knows hows to fight!"

Ralphie ascended slowly and steadily to his feet, shrugged his shoulders and lurched off in the general direction of Queen Street changing the subject,

"Now's there any other bars around here Bobby?"

Their evening of merriment was far from over and barely ten minutes later three well dressed young men careered around the corner followed some seven seconds later by two policemen.

"Stop him Nob!", cried the slower of the two officers. Nobby sprang forward and grabbed the leading youth and spun him round against the glass, whilst Rhodri seized the second, restraining him only to find his prey's fingers lodged firmly inside his nose. Thrusting him against the wall Rhodri struggled as the offending fingers reached deeper in search of indignity, whilst Nobby released a loud scream as his catch sunk his teeth into his hand.

"Well done Nob!", cried the policeman as the police van drew up and the two policemen escorted the two gentlemen inside its infamous rear. Nobby and Rhodri found the funny side of events as Nobby imitated the addition of two fingers to Rhodri's nostrils. However, barely had the two recovered from their exertions when the three youths they had intercepted reappeared at Henry's with three more friends.

'Oh God', thought Rhodri.

"Hallo again there gentlemen", Nobby laughed, his cheeky expression and broad grin hiding his surprise and apprehension, "How are you this evening?"

"Oh hello", replied his victim with an open stare of disbelief, his hands placed expectantly upon his hips.

"I see they've let you go!", laughed Nobby.

"Yes that's right!", continued the youth.

Nobby showed him the teeth marks on his hand and laughed with a relaxed shrug of his shoulders. His humour was nothing if not infectious and very soon the irony of the situation was transparent to the group of youths and even Rhodri managed a snort of laughter.

Henry's first three birthday weeks were a joyous occasion celebrated by most anyone who was anybody in Cardiff society. Two o'clock on Christmas morning came and passed and Rhodri declined Nobby's kind offer to attend his party with Paul the next day. Exchanging Season's greetings with his new best friends, Mark and Nobby, he drove down to Lloyd's to collect his wages and wish John and Alwyn a happy Christmas. His newly re-sprayed old BMW looked half decent, shining under the brilliant white street lights in garage forecourt. She drove him faithfully across Britain along the empty motorways at little under one hundred miles per hour, without so much as stopping on the way to the sleepy world of Grafton Underwood. They arrived at five o'clock on a frosty, crispy Christmas morning and he fell asleep on his warm bed in his dressing gown, waking refreshed at ten the next morning as if it had all been just a long, bad dream.

The two days of Christmas passed quickly and, as with all tenuous relationships, brevity was the key to compatibility. Returning by a more soulful route, winding through the valleys and across the fields of old England, he watched a thousand years of stone walls and hedgerows pass by. His eyes twinkled as he enjoyed the cobbles of the little country lanes in Tewkesbury and Warwick that had seen the cartwheels of trade roll in from the countryside for as many years as the oaks had stood in the fields nearby. It was with a heavy heart that he pulled up outside the little house on Coburn Street, and he yanked the hand brake taught with his right arm, stealing himself for his mission. Sighing he paused, lost in swirls of chaotic thoughts, and then with a sharp intake of breath he bounced out of the driver's seat and onto the pavement. Only a few hours of free time remained, for he was due back to work at seven, and besides he had some outstanding study to do. As he turned the key he felt the still calm of a deserted house and for a change he relished the peace that there was in tranquility. Wandering over to his desk he cleared away an unwashed mug of coffee, opened his Biochemistry practical book and picked up a favourite pen.

Nineteen eighty nine came in with a roar at Henry's, and Nobby and Rhodri entered the establishment to join in the orgy of hand shaking and good wishes.

"To a prosperous and fruitful new year my dear partner!", cried Nobby clasping his hand.

"To strength and survival!", replied Rhodri.

"Happy New Year Ray!", cried Nobby.

"Happy New Year matey!", cried Mark wringing Rhodri's hand.

"Happy New Year Mark!"

A buxom straw blonde grabbed Mark and planted a prosperous New Year's kiss on his lips and Mark's spirit rallied,

"I could do with some more of this!", he beamed and his smile carried Rhodri through into his long awaited end to the eighties.

John and Alwyn made shrewd moves to ensure that their jewel was fixed firmly in the dragon's crown. Henry's assistant manager Ray spent at least two sessions a week training in the company of John Falcon, whose legend sparkled in the impressionable eyes of Ray. Scarcely a week passed by without Ray mentioning the effortless grace with which he was progressing as a martial artist in John Falcon's skilled hands. Nobby the master of male ceremonies exhorted and praised his efforts, while Alwyn and John decided to spend at least one night a week each at Henry's to rest their door men who had secured the contract so successfully in their client's eyes. Mark Stallion and Rhodri grew to be firm friends, the kind of friends who did not need to exchange words to convey an impression of trust and friendship. A rising Ray enjoyed a publicly advertised relationship with Sandy, the Australian barmaid and his head began to spin with the trappings of his new life.

Wednesdays were the only evening of the week that he had to himself, time in which to catch up with his studies. Thus the weekly Biochemistry practicals rolled into Wednesday nights and he managed to enjoy the change as a rest. Tensions at Coburn Street had subsided now he was rarely there, and when he was around the girls were usually out or sleeping. This arrangement suited him, as he believed himself beyond squabbling over a dirty sink or five pound share of an electricity bill. Such things were more distressing to him than the sight of blood, for they proved that petty jealousies manifested in such little things could overcome the beauty of trust and fellowship.

Ten years of Conservative rule had transformed British society. Where fine manners, good breeding and a first class education had been at a premium for a successful entry to the higher echelons of Society, now the trappings of success held sway. Gleaming sports cars, Churchill's leather shoes and fine Pierre Langan cloth had swept Wordsworth, the Order of the British Empire and the Oxbridge degree under the carpet. Symbols of quality had been usurped by the glitter of ostentatious wealth, and for the most part, it did not seem necessary to qualify how it had been attained, or even borrowed. A stern Mark stepped through the front door on a busy Monday to call his door men to deal with a problem inside. Two young gentlemen stood in startled surprise beside a table where an elderly couple dressed in tweeds and cottons sat before a pot of tea. Fine fair hair falling just above shoulder length adorned the richly tailored blue-grey cloth of their suits, and to the casual eye the pair seemed quite out of place beside to an irate manager.

"You see these two here! Yes you two, you were threatening and shouting at an old couple who wouldn't say boo to a goose. I mean for God's sake! I just don't...just get them out of here!" Rhodri had never seen Mark as angry or red in the face and he quite lost his concentration as he stared at the most unusual scene.

"Who do you think you're talking to mister! We're both accountants around here!"

"I don't care what you are! You're banned from my establishment! Rhodri, Nobby take them outside!"

"I'm warning you we both know some pretty important people in the Cardiff establishment!"

"I don't care who you know, they're old enough to be your grandparents! You animals! Now get out of my sight!"

Rhodri awoke from his trance and the two door men edged the grinning duo back towards the rear fire exit.

"We don't want any trouble now boys", the elder of the two raised his palms in appeasement to the advancing Nobby and Rhodri.

"No one's giving you any trouble gentlemen, now would you please leave as the manager requested", Nobby responded with a certain elegance and finesse.

Backing them slowly to the rear, the four reached the bay by the fire exit and Rhodri depressed the lever allowing the doors to swing open.

"Now would you kindly leave gentlemen", repeated Nobby, assuming an eloquence of intonation that is the preserve of those Africans who speak English. The elder of the two approached Rhodri as if he were about to strike him, and his false smile turned to a snarl. He reconsidered his gesture as Rhodri showed no encouraging reaction. Sighing aloud Rhodri removed his black gloves from his trouser pockets, and fastened them about his wrists to unnerve his opponents. His opposite number looked at him in wide-eyed horror as he finished his ritual,

"Now are you going to leave now gentlemen?", asked Nobby in his firm and polite tone, "Or are we going to have to force you to?"

The eldest nodded as he stared at Rhodri in disbelief,

"Don't worry we're going"

"Thank you gentlemen", replied Rhodri as he closed the doors behind them and clicked the latch shut by the bar. Slowly he began to remove his gloves as he walked with Nobby back in the direction of the main door,

"You know Nobby, there's an old saying that if you want peace you must first prepare for war".

The New Year at College started with a certain familiarity,

"Well you're looking pretty tired this morning I must say Rhodri!"

"Why thank you Mark", replied Rhodri with practiced disinterest as he cast his eyes around at the medical students herding towards their next lecture.

"Well of course he's tired", interceded Terry, "He's been working hard haven't you mate!" Terry was by no exaggeration a loyal friend, and at times it seemed he would be more at home in a law court than a laboratory. Rhodri looked at the grey sky through the windows and pondered why it was that people huddled so closely together in winter weather in such a warmly heated room with condensation dripping from the windows. Sally leant forward, hands on her knees, wearing a patronizing smile,

"Are you still working at Henry's Rhodri?"

There were of course a range of possible responses to such an obvious slight but he avoided them,

"Yes, well I don't think five weeks is overstaying my welcome?"

"How's your albatross?", grinned Mark with his familiar self-satisfied look. Rhodri paused and thought. Large wing span, white, bad luck...

"Of you mean the BMW!", and forgave him the slight for its intelligence, "Dreadful. New battery, new respray, new lights and little or no mileage undertaken to speak of", and both Mark and he enjoyed the humour. Mark however hadn't quite finished,

"A little fat appearing under your chin there I see Rhodri, are you putting on weight?"

"Yes I'm afraid that Mark and Henry are treating me rather too well after hours", and he left the remark cryptic and Mark's face puzzled, "I'll tell you what. Wednesday is my day off. Why don't we all go up towards Sully in my car. It's about ten miles away towards Penarth. We can have a few drinks and a meal. Do you want to come Sally?"

"Sure that sounds lovely". Sally's overcast face lit up.

"I'll pick you two up at eight"

"Sounds brilliant", added Mark smiling.

The three returned from Sully in poor spirits. Mark had been neither good company nor quiet during their two hour stint in the cosy little bar that overlooked the rocky headland near Penarth. Whilst Sally and Rhodri had endeavoured to make pleasant conversation Mark had been agitated, as though a problem burdened his mind. Being Mark, frustrations manifested themselves as ill considered remarks and frivolities. For all the pain and muddied water under the bridge Rhodri knew Mark's spirit and loved him for the free spirit that he was, a brother in life and in work. After an hour they called it a night and drove back to Cardiff. Mark managed one more acidic laugh as Rhodri's infrequent driving and limited handling skills resulted in a collision with the pavement and the trim on the BMW fell off onto the road behind,

"Hah! Brilliant I must say!", exclaimed Mark falling back into his seat in satisfaction.

"Why thank you Mark"

Sally gave Rhodri an amused smile as he jerked the steering wheel over to the pavement and did his comic best to reclaim the metallic strip from the other side of the road,

"Got it! Bent, but not stirred"

"Fan-fucking-tastic! Now can we go home now please?"

Rhodri peered over his right shoulder,

"Oh, at your service Mark".

The street lights flew by as the car raced through the empty streets of the capital at eleven o'clock on a drizzly Wednesday night. Silence descended in respectful sympathy as the white car hurtled along Richmond Road towards Cathays. The car always seems to perform and look so much better at night he thought to himself, and then allowed himself a wry smile. Turning left off Albany Road, it was only a hundred or so yards to the house that Mark shared with Sarah Evans, Nicki and Helen.

"Here we are Mark", Rhodri stated with an air of finality, breaking the awkward six minute silence. Mark left the back seat with a bang,

"Night"

"Pleasure was all mine!", Rhodri shouted after him, "Home Sally?"

"Please", and her big baby eyes flashed sweetly at him before he drove the remaining six minutes over to the student tower apartments and drew up alongside the entrance. A pause followed a respectful moment's silence as the midnight hour approached,

"Coming upstairs?", Sally asked with a furtive smile. Rhodri looked at her pretty smile, full breasts and flowing curves and then cast his mind back to the long-term boyfriend they had all heard so much about,

"No thank you Sally, I'd better be getting back. But thank you for a nice evening", and he gave her a pleasant smile.

"Okay", she returned the smile, before she smoothly closed the car door and made her way towards the entrance with a furtive glance over her shoulder.

The festivities were long forgotten and January's bleak chill and the long hours of winter work began to bear upon his shoulders. John and Alwyn had established a strong rapport with the sensitive and easily flattered Ray, and Ray reveled in the glory of his association with the big boys. Through his ability to listen and his awareness of peoples' feelings, Nobby had built a strong foundation with both Mark and Ray, whilst the natural alignment of Mark and Rhodri had begun to lead to tensions in their relationship with Ray. All the ingredients necessary for a power struggle that marks man as a social creature, with needs and hierarchies, were there, and only the shrill bleating of the lamb when the wolf is hunting was necessary to disturb the brittle peace. Rhodri felt a deep sense of inner foreboding as he noticed the remarks and glances that came his way when Ray was with Alwyn and John, and he grew suspicious. A wise and wary manager knew that door men could become more familiar to an establishment than the firm that supplied them, and it made sense to change staff around from time to time. But Rhodri knew that Mark valued his services and that Wyvern Security had precious few employees who were substantially more than gorillas in bow ties, as the manager of Stamps had so succinctly put it. Equally they would realize this and regard his comfortable position with Mark. 'How petty we men are', he mused aloud during a moment of solitude, 'That they will kill and lie and betray for a few pieces of silver. I suppose 'they', who ever 'they' are, regard the waste of constructive effort and resources of non-cooperative activity and competition as positive, a model for the antisocial paradigm of survival of the fittest, where he who gleans the most is presumed to have produced a greater contribution to the diminished whole'. He flirted with the tortology again and chuckled at its absurdity. Finally he resolved to forget such reasoning to preserve his sanity.

Ray was to all intents and purposes in charge of the bar. Whether this was a position acquired by default, delegation or desire Rhodri wasn't entirely sure, but he knew that Ray relished the power and influence that he wielded. Robert and Kate, the head bar staff were as close to Ray as peas in a pod, and as for the attractive Australian bar maid, even closer. Robert, a black in his late twenties, was an extrovert and unfortunately had taken an instinctive dislike to Rhodri. Late one evening in the early week Rhodri reclined quietly against his banister, sipping a cappuccino.

"Call yourself a bouncer?", Ray taunted from behind the bar in full earshot of the bar staff, "My kid brother could take you!"

Despite the questioning glances that this scene provoked from the other bar staff, Rhodri chose to ignore him. Ray, who was standing next to his head bar man sniggered and exchanged a sly grin with Robert. Examining his finger nails, Ray propped himself up against the wall behind the bar and cast a furtive glance in Rhodri's direction. Rhodri turned and walked back down the flight of steps back towards the door.

Five minutes later after Ray had exchanged further sniggers and whispers with Robert across the bar counter it started again,

"Been watching too many Hong Kong Phooey cartoons if you ask me!", exclaimed the muscular Negroid who had injected a little ridicule into his jesting, "Gone to his head!"

Robert, Ray and Kate joined one or two of the bar staff in a fit of titters.

"Barely stand on his two legs let alone fight wiv'em!", shouted Robert and this, judging by the cascade of sniggers it evoked, must have been a popular image. Nobby had by now heard enough. He beckoned to Ray to come over and laughed through his teeth as he always did when he was serious or upset. He spoke softly and seriously into Ray's ear,

"Roddy is always ready to fight"

"Yes I know", said Ray darkly, "I might end up lying on the floor in a pool of blud!"

Nobby looked at Ray through the side of his eyes, and his lips curled upwards at the corners. Ray returned meekly to the corner of the bar where Robert leant over to make a few more choice remarks to an impressionable Ray. Ray started dancing on his feet as if he were shadow boxing, staring intently at Rhodri. Looking around Rhodri saw only one customer in the premises, who had by now risen to his feet to don his jacket. The temptation to educate the anemic runt, whose spotty head had reared above the flowers in his cosy little garden proved too much for him. Rhodri slipped his gloves on and walked up the steps towards the bar and stopped six feet in front from Sugar Ray who by now was again chewing imaginary gum. Relaxing his shoulders and letting his arms swing loosely by his sides, Rhodri adopted a deep attacking stance and looked at Ray impassively.

"Come on then", Ray challenged a thick Mancunian accent bobbing and weaving. Quick as a flash Rhodri launched a front lunge punch, transmitting the energy of his explosive movement into his right first. Focusing an inch into Ray's solar plexus he winded him slightly and having bent him over double, he threw him forcibly over his right hip with a swinging neck throw. Recovering his original position, Rhodri watched the fallen ego right himself and insist on another trial. Rhodri turned and repeated the same maneuver, casting him to the indignity of the floor, to demonstrate the difference in power and speed. For a third time he withdrew and a third time Ray showed his not inconsiderable courage by rising again. This time Ray plucked up the fortitude to throw a right jab, and knocked his attacker's head backwards as he lunged forwards. The outcome was much the same only Rhodri lost his focus with the jab, landing his punch too deeply into Ray's stomach sending him sprawling to the floor. Undone, Robert bounced from behind the bar as Rhodri sat in a whicker chair upon the raised platform, his gloved hands resting over the arms of his chair. He rolled his cricked neck slowly and deliberately round in circles, whilst Robert performed a machismo war dance in front of him. Rhodri thought about it, but he instinctively knew that Robert could fight. Worse still the lighter man could never win a play fight, and in order to preserve face and dignity he would have to hurt him, possibly badly. That was a walking offense and so he wisely sat on the chair as if he were a king watching a jester prance, and soon even the bar staff were laughing at Robert.

Unfortunately Robert had not finished, and after turning the permutations over in his mind, Rhodri decided that he was a threat to his position as well as an irritant. Of course he mentioned to Mark that Robert was antagonizing his credibility, but it had not escaped Mark's notice and neither had Ray's relationship with the bar staff. Nobby missed even less than Rhodri, and living south of the railway line, he knew what went on. He lived with Paul, the manager of the Wine Press, and Paul's girlfriend Lucy worked behind the bar at Henry's. By and by it emerged from Lucy that Robert and Kate were supplying the street with cases of spirits, a fact easily concealed because they were in sole charge of both the ordering and the books. A sharp manager with an eye for the accounts could probably have picked this up, but tired, overworked and over-trusting managers regarded the books as a chore rather than as a matter for great conscience. Nobby could not stomach Robert any more than Rhodri, and after a time he let him in on the secret, knowing precisely what he might do with the information. In passing Mark's office Rhodri happened to let slip that there were grounds for suspicion and before the week was out Robert had taken a one way trip away from the premises. Ray was subdued for a time, professionally embarrassed by his choice of friends, but as the leopard, his spots were only hidden by the shadows.

The balance of power continued to swing in his direction. Events had led Mark to trust increasingly in his door men, and he frequented the front door whenever possible to talk to his confidants. After the initial decree from Wyvern Security that they were to remain outside in the cold, the rules were relaxed so that during the off hours and the week days they could stand inside where it was warm. Rhodri took to reading Le Figaro and the Guardian to alleviate the long minutes between customers. Dinner was served at eleven thirty after the chairs had been put away, and Rhodri enjoyed his break time cappuccino piping hot with just a sprinkling of cocoa. However the treatment of the door men made the busy bar staff increasingly resentful, and as rumours spread about exorbitant wages and favouritism Mark had felt obliged to intervene.

"I had a meeting with the staff today", Mark announced outside the front door, an expression almost bordering on concern across his joyful features, "I just couldn't believe the hard time you guys were getting".

Nobby adopted a sincere and reverential look, whilst Rhodri looked surprised and hurt,

"I told them that you guys only got a fraction of what Wyvern Security were making an hour". Nobby's eyebrows lifted,

"Honest to God!"

Mark continued,

"And I had to explain to them that you two had to stand outside in the bitter cold every night. As for the weekends, I said I couldn't believe what you guys had to go through with non-stop abuse, aggression and threats for six hours outside in the cold".

Nobby appeared impressed and Rhodri waved his head from side to side as if he had never thought of it that way before.

"How could you be so unfair? I asked them", and Rhodri pondered Mark's potential as a Thespian,

"Well could you do the job they do I asked them?"

"Thank you Mark", Rhodri added politely in recognition of the support. Nobby didn't say a word and just looked as though he were impressed.

For the next three weeks Tuesday evenings were spent in the company of John Falcon. To say the least Rhodri found working alongside the owner of Wyvern Security difficult. Alwyn spoke his mind, albeit aggressively, and there was always instantaneous feedback on anything that was less than perfect in his eyes. John noticed everything and said nothing as Nobby had warned, and this made him feel wary. It was difficult to know whether John's relaxed approach on the door was preferred to Rhodri's more intense style. That Tuesday John stood alongside Rhodri in his green bow tie, who as usual dissipated his nervous energy by opening the door and greeting people, bouncing his energy off them to test their alignment. Eventually John broke his tension,

"So Roddy what do you think of working at Henry's? Good job ah?"

He took this as a leading question,

"Cold but rewarding"

"How does you likes working for Wyvern eh Roddy?", and his pronounced features turned at an angle to scrutinize his door man's reaction.

"It's okay I suppose" Rhodri smiled and shrugged indifferently.

"You knows a young man like you can goes a long way working for me".

"Thank you for saying so John. Good evening Sir, might I request that you wear a tie next time? Good evening madam, thank you for coming".

"How does you like working wiv Nobby?" John's voice took on a more sinister tone.

"He's a good door man, sharp, capable and supportive".

"Aha", John smiled and nodded his head as if he had learnt something. He swung his ear around towards the door.

"I think we better goes in Roddy, looks like there's something happening inside". Rhodri rotated his torso to see one of the bar men waving frantically for them to come inside.

Rhodri bowed courteously as John walked through the door he had opened for him. There was no need to ask the bar man for the identity of the miscreants. As he and John approached the two men were railing a fair haired young man dressed in a flannel jacket and crocodile leather shoes, his back pressed against the rich dark veneer of the bar. A tall, dark-haired man with a generous waist and broad shoulders thrust his outstretched finger into the face of the youth with the flannel jacket, menacing, whilst his partner, a dark, curly haired man of medium height and build stood a pace behind his partner, weaving his fists and shoulders as if he were about to strike in support. Rhodri made his way around the back of the pair who both wore designer stubble and noxious expressions and tapped the taller man firmly on his shoulder. After a moment he brought his grisly visage around to glare at Rhodri who sighed and shook his head slowly,

"Excuse me sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave"

John faced his curly partner in crime from the opposite side, a long established ruse to upset the aggressor's focus. Confused, the larger man stopped still and turned sideways on, staring aggressively at Rhodri as if unsure of developments. The curly haired man shifted his feet, fists now unfurled, and moved towards John. Looking down upon Rhodri in contempt the taller man's lips curled slowly into a smile,

"I'll take this one Ive, he's looks ready"

Rhodri shifted his weight to a deeper and more balanced stance as the stench of beer and his bloodshot eyes drew closer. John stood calmly with his arms relaxed by his sides and stared at all three men as if he had no problem.

"Ready Steve?", asked the curly haired man relishing the tension, unfurling his lower lip in anticipation, "I'll take this one, no problem. Got yours sized up"

Rhodri read the fight as imminent, withdrew his knuckle-duster from his right pocket and raised three fingers of his left hand above his shoulder. He nodded to John and mouthed 'ready?'. Three fingers, the targets fastened their gaze and tensed their shoulders. Two fingers, and their fists were clenched. One finger, Rhodri looked at John and prepared to let his hand fall. John slowly shook his head and sniffed. Unnerved by John's unsettling calm and evident origins, the curly haired man lowered his guard and started to walk towards the front door. After a suggestive grimace of defiance towards Rhodri, his partner rocked back slowly towards the bar, and then with leisurely disinterest turned to join him. John and Rhodri followed a few paces behind to make sure that they continued to walk forward and through the main doors. Rhodri and John settled back to work outside the front door, and John looked at Rhodri darkly through the corner of his eye.

"So's you like fighting then uh Roddy?"

Unsure whether John was concerned or satisfied over his handling of the situation Rhodri was brief and to the point,

"I'd rather not. But sometimes it goes with the job. If the word is that you can't fight or won't, they just walk right through you and then you end up getting roughed up, or you just leave. A weak door man is no barrier, but to talk is better. It works for me".

"Uh-huh", John nodded in understanding of Rhodri's philosophy and then broke out into a smile, "You's doing alright Roddy don't you worry".

January was almost over and the cold weather at last began to relent. Rhodri walked in through Henry's front door at the end of a quiet Wednesday night and saw a happy John laughing and joking with Nobby and Mark at the back near the restaurant. John finished laughing and smiled at his prize recruit as he neared, his irrepressible soul written all over his face. Rhodri found it hard to imagine this man fighting, let alone competing in the clash of bone and spirits in the international dojo. His face and figure were a picture of carefree relaxation and his every breath seemed to draw in the atmosphere as if it were a precious vintage,

"Coming to the Caribbean evening at the Finistere ah Nobby?"

"Where's that at boss?"

"The Students' Union", intercepted Rhodri.

"He does mi 'ead in boss, he really does!"

John chuckled and those dark brown eyes sparkled with a love for life,

"Roddy you shoulda' seen John's face when I came into the ring at him at Channel View a few weeks ago", Nobby continued, "I bounced over the ropes and roared like a lion! And John, he stare at me and goes 'Like frig Nobby' and kicks my ass!", Nobby and John both burst into an uproar as they recalled the picture, and Mark and Rhodri were left little option but to join them as the spirit and the company were contagious.

"You's coming with us Roddy?", John added smiling.

"And why not?", replied Rhodri with a modest smile.

By the time they arrived at the Finistere C.C.Cool, a popular student member of the Union was standing by the front entrance. Her eyes lit up and she seemed thrilled to see John. In between giggles and spontaneous shrieks of joy she greeted John and led the mild mannered man and his entourage into the Finistere. As with all the immaculately decorated facilities of the Students' Union, the Finistere was smart and garish, its decor imposing even above the dim evening lighting of an evening function. Rhodri and his companions relaxed, and as always when he ventured out with Nobby, his partner went straight to the dance floor to flow and sway in tune to the rhythms and melodies of the night with the most attractive ladies on the dance floor. Uncomfortable with the harmonies of the Caribbean Rhodri danced briefly with Nobby and John for a short time out of politeness, and then fell back to watch from the shadows, ever curious as to how people from an unfamiliar culture enjoyed themselves.

Nobby had barely whispered two sweet little nothings into the ear of his young companion when he felt the presence of a dark spirit, cold and hateful. The feeling permeated his being and he became unable to relax, shifting his weight uneasily from leg to leg. His senses awakened, he scanned between the dimly lit and ornate walls of the small club in search of the disturbance. There in the far corner by the luminescent green of the exit sign were a set of eyes staring at him intently. They belonged to a Rastafarian, but no follower of God, his large Negroid forehead shadowed a slight snarl and those hateful eyes. Aware that it had been recognized the spirit rose slowly from its chair, its frame bent forward and moved towards them, skirting around the dance floor, wide open eyes staring at him intently. His intuition had served him well, and he recognized the individual as one of the drug dealers he had once evicted from Floyds. As it drew within fifteen yards, eyes scarcely human and devoid of love John smelt it and stopped dancing. John turned around and looked as the sneer became a snarl and its teeth were bared. Hunched over, its dilated pupils burning fiercely, it paused and stared at John in recognition,

"Frigging hell", exclaimed John, his smile evaporating, "Let's get outta here!".

John and Rhodri made their way calmly back towards the main entrance, maintaining eye contact with the spirit and, after a brief delay, Nobby sent his pert and pretty companion a parting smile, shrugged softly and followed his friends through the door as the Rastafarian followed them to the exit. He stopped and watched intently as the three friends disappeared down the stairs listening as Nobby described the passing of another beautiful woman to John.

Monday evenings were a cold and quiet affair. It was only eight o'clock and the first hour had seemed to drag by interminably, with only a handful of couples and business men venturing out for an evening coffee. The Henry's restaurant was not doing a thriving business. Rhodri guessed that the British felt uncomfortable eating on open platforms, as if they, their food and their manners were open to the public. Rhodri had finished the remnants of his cappuccino with a relish and picked up the Guardian newspaper to read the international section, reclining against the wall as he spread the broad sheet at waist level. At that moment two youths with crew cuts wearing faded denims and light green bomber jackets hurtled past on their bikes, and he scarcely noticed them. An arm shot up out of recognition,

"Hey Nob! How's it going!"

"Hiya Gary! Hiya Steve! How's you doing!"

Gary and Steve dismounted their racing bikes and cruised to a stop standing on one pedal. The two youths walked their bikes twenty paces before resting them against the service door of Henry's. Gary was a cheerful soul, plump and muscular with round piggy eyes and circular spectacles that enhanced the impression of his chubby cheeks. Gary seemed always to be smiling or in between smiles and had a happy-go-lucky air about him. Steve wore a severe expression as though he bore great responsibility on his shoulders. An anxious person, Steve looked nervously at the stranger reading the newspaper behind Nobby before starting a discussion,

"Hey Nob, Alwyn told us to stop by and check this place out", he paused and stared at Rhodri in disbelief, "What the blinkers does he think e's doing standing there reading a paper on the job?" Nobby sent Rhodri a neutral glance and returned to face the bomber crew and replied in a calm, assuring manner,

"He's s'alright. There's no problem really. This isn't like other doors, its quiet and smart and you can read the paper. The manager doesn't care so long as he's smart and polite".

Steve, however wasn't finished and stared at Rhodri as if he were from another planet,

"Doesn't look like a door man, doesn't act like a door man..."

Rhodri refolded his newspaper calmly,

"Do want to step aside and prove your point?", he responded, clearly irritated by the stranger's audacity.

"What he don't even talk like a door man!", he widened his stance, "Do you want me to throw you through this window?"

Rhodri looked him over dismissively with obvious disdain and returned the chall