mod_thatjazz (mod_thatjazz) wrote in thatjazz, @ 2008-09-14 18:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | plot |
The Fury, closed
Just a normal Friday night in The Fury. The band's playing, the dancefloor's jumping, the hooch is flowing. Cards are shuffled, dealt, exchanged, laid down as challenges met and lost.
Katherine's on stage singing, Nathan's behind the bar, Scott's in his office. Brendon's act is due on as soon as Katherine's set finishes, and John's disappeared somewhere backstage with one of the patron's - that ain't exactly unusual.
What's unusual is the commotion working its way along the corridor to the top of the stairs to end as cops pouring through the doorway and down into the club. On duty cops.
The Fury pays its fees, and pays them well. Trouble is, this time, it looks like someone else has paid them better.
Half the crowd's ossified already, takes a while for them to work out what's happening. The cops in there to drink turn their coats fast enough, forming up with the squad and turning guns on their tablemates, dance partners, whoever's close by. Tables break, Janes are screaming, bullets fly. There's a crowd at the back of the stage seeking another way out. Any way out.
Too many people, there's no way clear, no clear view. People sheltering behind the bar, behind downed tables. Broken glass and booze spilling across the floor from shattered bottles, and it's fast. Within minutes, the club's empty of anyone but cops and the few unfortunates they've managed to pinch.
Among them: Brendon. Katherine. Nathan.
Holed up securely backstage: Scott. John and his guest.
Anyone else? Take a wild guess. There's enough chaos that no one's quite sure where anyone is, and most of The Fury's firepower's down at the docks.