A lucky evening

We were out celebrating our friend Mr. F's … recent acquisition of a new club in the city, by having some drinks in said club. We were headed to a VIP booth when Mr. F's eye caught something… unusual.

Mr. F signaled to our guide and bouncer. "Blair... will you be an excellent bouncer and throw out that old guy over there?"

Blair looked at him in surprise. "Sure man, what's the beef though?"

"He's a fucking asshole," Mr. F said coldly.

I looked at them both, trying to figure what was going on. It wasn't like Mr. F to randomly throw a fit over an old beef… right?

Blair grabbed the man and dragged him out forcefully, making him start yelling something in what sounded like Chinese…

My eyes started darting back and forth from him to Mr. F and back again, I couldn't believe our luck that day…

Mr. F waved at the man "Try the fish!!" making us all laugh loudly. Ah, the beauty of karma -- when you're in the right side of it, that is.

"Blair, wait," I said, still smiling, "lead him to the office, will you?"

"Sure thing, Boss…" he replied with a smile as he dragged him up the stairs.

"And someone make me a VERY hot coffee," I said to nobody in particular.

The sexy bartender came over to take my improvised order, particularly concerned. "Is… everything alright?"

I smiled at her dismissively. "Yes, don't worry."

"VERY hot coffee, extremely warm. And send it up to the third floor, " added Mr. F.

I nodded. "Just boil the milk."

She was still confused about the ordeal. "Wait… which room?"

"The office. Or wait, I'll take it upstairs myself."

"Andrei, not in front of the strippers. That's just nasty," pointed out Mr. F. You see, he's a weird one. He's cool with our job, but at the same time he can be too damn nice.

I nodded. "Don’t' worry, that's what the office is for. But there's no need for Mrs. Rose here to bring up the coffee, I can do that myself." I paused for a moment, I'd had yet another idea. "Oh, dear," I told Rose, "and a bottle of your cheapest vodka."

The rest of our friends were just having a chat with the personnel about the recent acquisition of the place over some drinks, as I waited for my peculiar order to arrive.

Rose soon came with the order: a tray with a pot of boiling coffee, an unlabeled bottle of something sold as vodka, and a small jug of milk.

"Thanks, dear." I smiled to her. "Now, if you all excuse me… " I said to the others as I took the tray and brought it upstairs. Thankfully the tray was fancy isolated one, or I'd have burnt my hand on the way up. … It wasn't exactly easy to go up three flights of stairs with it, you know.

In the office, I found the old man sitting in a chair blabbering unintelligible Chinese noises.

He threw me a death glare. "YOU! Thieving coffee man! You no paid!"

I smiled softly at him. "You got off easy last time. But I heard you like coffee, da? Well, I'm a nice man, I brought you the real thing." I made a big deal of pouring the boiled milk in the coffee jug, playing the part of a good host. He kept staring at it, not knowing whether to make heads or tails out of this. I helped him by kicking his knee and throwing him onto the floor.

The old fart started cursing in a weird mix of Chinese and Russian and English. "You fuck yourself!! Da? FUCK! Tā mā de!"  He kept ranting as he flipped me the bird, bits of saliva flying everywhere with every single word of his.

I smiled at him. "Shush, old man. I'm here to pay for that coffee, da? … With some more coffee, you see," I said, as I let the coffee start, first dripping, then pouring, all over him.

He screamed his lungs out in a weird noise that sounded like an angry cat, somehow trying to get away, but in too much pain to actually move more than a couple inches.  

As the jug was mostly empty, I simply turned it upside down, letting the last of it drop on him. I looked at him. "There. A coffee for a coffee, da? We good?"

His screams now had turned into a pleading noise -- I think it was Chinese, but the tone said it all.

I laughed. "Don’t' be such a crybaby, hot coffee isn't THAT hot. Speaking of, I got you a gift." I smiled at him. "Now, I hope your clothes aren't plastic, because, you see, plastic has the annoying habit to catch fire too easily…"

The man started whimpering. "Bù xièxiè…" He seemed to realize I had no clue of Chinese. "no…. No, please…"

I opened the bottle and took a sip. FUCK it was CRAP. "Ahhhhh… da, da, the cheap crap…. I love it…" I offered him the bottle. "Want some?" Then I realized… the carpeting. It felt most definitely faux fur. The kind that goes up in flames almost by itself. … Sure, fire regulations were a thing, but… setting Mr. F's new club on fire wasn't in today's agenda. I cursed to myself as I grabbed his broken leg and dragged him out.

Of course, he started screaming like a whiny bitch.

"Oh, shut up already, will you?" I mostly ignored his pleas as I kept dragging him forward. But he wouldn't stop, and there were … civilians around. Can't have them freak out. I loaded him on my shoulder and put my hand firmly over his mouth, muzzling his screams enough to not attract so much attention.

And then the idiot had the brilliant idea of biting my hand. I swear, it's like they have never been in a mildly … uncomfortable situation.

"You IDIOT," I said, as I dropped him on the floor chin first -- dislocating his jaw. Then I simply kept dragging faster, as he was now making weird noises. I rushed past the main floor, but I'd sworn I caught Blair eyeing us. Oh well, good thing he's not an idiot.  Finally at the restroom, I got him in one of the stalls and sat him on the toilet, and glanced around. Yes, no flammable materials… no risk of setting the whole building on fire.

He kept whimpering in a weird mix of Chinese and Russian, not helped by the fact that he couldn't move his jaw at all.

"Now," I pulled my knife, "stay still, da? I don’t' want you bleeding out." I carelessly ripped off his clothes, then took another sip of the bottle. "Good crap, da. Say. Want some?"

He was looking at me without seeing, a low, unintelligible whimper coming out of his throat.

I slapped him. "I asked you a question."

He started sobbing a bit louder. Not only he couldn't really talk, but apparently his brain had overheated and couldn't process my question, much less find an answer.

I sighed as I grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, leaving his mouth fully open, and emptied the whole bottle in it -- most of it spilled around, helped by him getting quite choked by so much fluid in such little time. "Not bad huh? At least compared to your coffee, da?"

He was too busy coughing and trying to scream as the alcohol burnt stung his already burnt skin.

I couldn't help smiling. This was always my favorite part. You see, vodka boils at about 80C. It's HOT, but not hot enough to actually cause any major damage… I grabbed a match and lit it up in front of his eyes, smiling at him.

More, louder whimpering. It was SO heart-warming.

In silence, I took a step back and threw the match at him -- the alcohol immediately caught fire.

He tried to scream, but again ended up sounding like a cat with a sore throat.

I laughed. "Stop wailing like that, it's not good for your throat. Besides, this isn't that bad, you're lucky I didn't bring my work case today…" As the fire died, I grabbed the empty bottle and smashed it on his head, knocking him out. I shook my head, made sure the stall's door was locked, and headed back to meet the others.