Phoenix Simpson
Chapter 8
The next morning I found myself staring at the email sitting in my inbox.
I'd been offered an interview for a Door Supervisor job. In other words, a glorified name for a bouncer. Calling it a door supervisor didn't make it sound more appealing, it made it sound ridiculous. Were doors so much trouble nowadays that they needed babysitting?
I really wasn't in the mood to stand around all hours of the night, ushering drunk people in and out of a nightclub, but it was the only response I'd gotten so far, and I'd equally had enough of staring at the laptop screen.
The 'Door Supervisor' job hadn't required many qualifications. Just the ability to speak English and to be physically fit. They'd also mentioned being friendly and 'host-like', but that was asking too much, in my opinion.
The interview time was the same day, later this afternoon. I realised that they'd called my phone earlier, but I hadn't answered. I didn't answer calls from unknown numbers. Now I realised that they'd tried to contact me already today. Not one for talking much, I decided to reply to the email instead, agreeing that I'd be able to make the interview in four hours time.
I wondered what kind of questions they'd ask me. And what kind of responses they'd want to hear. Part of me was tempted to search for ideas or tips for the interview, but it would make me seem too desperate. I could handle it. I didn't need the help of some unknown blogger's opinions.
I didn't mention the interview to any of my brothers, not even Landon. He wasn't around anyway. He was 'out' again, which meant he was probably on a date, or coming back from an all-nighter.
As the time drew closer, I took a shower and got dressed into smart black trousers and a white shirt. I didn't wear clothes like this often. I may have been a former gang leader, but we weren't the Italian mob. Hoodies and leather jackets had been enough. I touched up on my aftershave and brushed strands of my hair into place before taking one last look at myself and turning to leave.
I almost went for my gun, instinctively. The act of preparing for something usually included packing my gun, or at least a knife. But this wasn't a gang fight I was going to, or a night on patrol. This was a bloody job interview.
Huffing out, I pulled back from the locked drawer of my bedside table. Only me, Landon and Walter had had guns. I'd made Landon and Walter dispose of theirs. But I was still holding onto mine. I didn't always lock my gun away. In the past I sometimes got complacent, and those were the times when the triplets would steal it, take it out for the day to show off most likely, then put it back as if they hadn't touched it. I knew, of course, and I made sure they never pulled stunts like that again. They could easily end up in juvenile detention for years, not just the days at a time that they were used to being in there for. Worst case, they could end up dead. Either by accidentally shooting each other whilst messing around, or by starting something with the Santiagos that they couldn't finish.
I'd never hit my brothers like our father and mother hit us. They would use their hand or fist to the face. Mum preferred using the cane, and she'd make sure we felt it to the backside or the palms of our hands. I never hit any of my brothers in the face as a punishment, only if it were a fight. But even so, not the triplets, they were too young. Usually, it was Walter who provoked me into fighting, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd punched Landon or Eli.
Somehow, I only needed to speak in a certain way, give them a deadly look, and the triplets would get the message. They all would. One of the most important messages being: Never try the product. My father had taught me that the hard way. I hadn't even had the slightest desire to try the product he dealt, mainly cocaine. But that hadn't stopped him. He'd tipped half a small packet down my throat and made me swallow it. One of his lessons.
I was twelve.
It could have killed me, but thankfully I threw it all back up straight away. The pain in my stomach and the tremors that shook my body that night, I would never forget. So, I had taught my brothers that important rule without subjecting them to the same fate. And they got the message. As far as I knew, none of them had been stupid enough to take any drugs at all.
The house was quiet by the time I was leaving. If anyone was home, they were probably in their rooms sleeping. Good. I didn't want to explain that I had a job interview. It would be followed by a chorus of 'good lucks' that I didn't need, and an insurmountable amount of pressure to succeed. As if I hadn't put myself under enough pressure already.
I left the house in plenty time, taking my car and backing out of the driveway onto the quiet street. Using my car's GPS, I followed the directions to the nightclub that I couldn't even remember the name of. Finding parking took a while, since it was in the middle of the town centre, but eventually I found a place and paid for an hour's stay. Hopefully it wouldn't take that long, but ever since the incident that led me to jail in the first place, I always paid my parking tickets now. I wouldn't be able to trust myself to react well if a cocky little shit wearing a uniform challenged me again.
I walked down the high street, the sun reflecting off my white shirt in the windows of the shops I passed. I stopped at the club. Pink Moon. Interesting name. It was dark inside and appeared completely empty until the figure walked up to the door and opened it for me.
"Hi," the woman smiled, quickly looking me up and down. "You must be Phoenix."
"Yes," I answered, stepping inside once she let me in.
She was wearing skinny black jeans and a loose white blouse. She wore a silver necklace with a little pendant. I almost felt the need to touch the gold chain I had around my own neck to check if it was still there, like always.
The décor inside was mostly black, as expected, with some magenta lighting across the underside of one very long bar. One barman was cleaning glasses, his waistcoat casually undone. Like the rest of the club, the ceiling lights were modern, some sort of unique, quirky style, which also had magenta accents.
"I'm Maddy, manager of the place," the lady with platinum blonde hair introduced herself, holding her hand out.
I shook it, not sure what to say. She already knew my name, clearly.
"Take a seat," she gestured to the booth to my right. There was already a clipboard and a laptop open on the side where she'd been sitting. There was also a half-drunk martini, the speared olive bathing in the glass.
"I would offer you a drink, but that might be unprofessional," she chuckled, sliding down the plush leather seat.
I sat opposite her, clasping my hands together on the table in front of me. If Landon was here, he'd tell me to smile. I did no such thing. I couldn't smile on demand, especially when I didn't mean it.
"Alright, let's get started, shall we?" Maddy smiled and looked down to her laptop screen.
She probably had my answers to the short application form I'd filled. They hadn't required anywhere near as many details as some of the other jobs had. Probably why I'd landed this interview to begin with.
"Tell me a bit about yourself, and what your experience is in security," Maddy read from her clipboard and then met my eyes expectantly.
I swallowed, tightening my hands so that the skin stretched thinly over my scarred knuckles. Where to start? I wasn't exactly the world's biggest talker. I was private, always had been. I didn't want to talk about myself or my 'experience'. It was something that had been engrained on me since childhood when going to school. If anyone asks about anything at home, tell them as little as possible. Probably the first rule I'd ever learned.
I glanced at Maddy's grey eyes. Her brows pulled together slightly, but she didn't say anything.
Clearing my throat, I looked down at the table top, "I...am twenty-three, I just moved to the area...and I have a big family to support," I said, immediately wishing I hadn't mentioned just moving here because Maddy perked up, sensing that as a conversation topic.
"Oh, lovely," she beamed. "Where did you make the move from? And how are you finding it here so far?"
I internally sighed. What happened to tell them as little as possible?
"From London," I said plainly. "It's nice here, yeah."
"And your family? You have children?"
I almost shuddered, "No. Just younger siblings."
"Nice, how many?"
I almost sighed out loud.
"Six."
Her shaped brows arched in surprise, "Wow, must be a loud house."
"You could say that," I faintly nodded.
"So, Phoenix, any experience working in security?" Maddy reminded me of the second part of her question.
"Honestly..." I started. "Not much. I did some work for family when I was a teen, but it was off the books. I wasn't paid for it."
It was part truth. Working my way up the gang I'd joined when I was fifteen, had consisted of being vigilant and watching out. Either for rivals dealing on our territory, or for the police. You had to keep an eye out, or you could easily end up in jail...or dead.
"Okay," Maddy nodded. "So, no experience in nightclubs? Considering you were underage yourself."
"No," I shook my head.
She nodded again, looking back to her clipboard before meeting my eyes.
"Tell me, how would you deal with the following situation? Someone, a young woman, is extremely drunk. She's struggling to walk, her words are barely coherent, and she's throwing up."
The image made me want to curl my lip in disgust, but I expected as much. It was a nightclub. People drank too much. More than they could handle. And sometimes people's drinks got spiked.
"I would pull her to the side," I began, then wished I'd used another word instead of 'pull' when Maddy's brows creased momentarily. "And I'd try to get her name, and the names of the people she might be with."
"You can't make any sense of what she's saying," Maddy piped in. "She's inebriated."
"Okay," I huffed quietly. "I'd probably sit her down on the side and call her an ambulance."
It seemed to be the right answer because Maddy smiled brightly.
"Right," she said. "And how would you cooperate with emergency services, such as the paramedics in such a case? Or the police in other instances?"
This was starting to sound like more of an interrogation than an interview. Words like 'emergency services' and 'police' were triggers. Only bad memories arose when they were mentioned. Like, one of my brothers getting seriously hurt. Or the threat of being arrested and sent back to jail.
"Would you like me to repeat the question?"
"No," I muttered. "I'd tell them what happened. How I found her, and how her condition is. And the same thing if the police were ever called. I'd tell them what happened before they got there."
The words tasted foul on my tongue. Telling the police what happened. I almost scoffed. Snitching was against the code of life where I came from. Snitching was for the lowly. Everyone knew a snitch's days were numbered. Maddy nodded, marking something on her clipboard. I frowned, wondering whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"Okay, so," she took a sip of her drink. "What are some de-escalation techniques when conflicts are arising? Say someone doesn't have a ticket to get into the club and they're getting rowdy? Or someone inside the club is causing a problem with other guests. They're too drunk and acting very aggressively? How do you prevent the situation getting worse?"
This one wasn't hard. Walter was the person who came into mind, and I almost smiled. I couldn't exactly tell her my methods that sometimes consisted of me pinning him to the wall or the floor. I could, however, mention the methods I used before anything like that became necessary.
"I would separate them from others," I said.
"How?" Maddy interjected.
I frowned, then motioned with my hands. "Hold their arms firmly by their sides, and walk them outside."
"And what if they don't want to go outside?"
I tutted under my breath, "I would explain to them that they have to calm down, or things will get out of hand."
"They're drunk, unreasonable."
This woman loved her dramatic scenarios, didn't she?
"I would force them outside," I said. "And tell them they can't come back in."
She nodded, jotting something else down. I tried to read it, but her laptop was in the way.
"And I know you said you have not much security experience, but can you think of a time when you demonstrated such techniques and what the outcome was?"
I paused in thought, wondering if I should make something up or tell her an actual scenario. To lie would be the better option, but knowing her, she'd ask follow up questions that I might not be able to think of answers for fast enough.
"Well..." I trailed off.
"Anything at all," she shrugged. "Doesn't have to be work related."
I dropped my gaze and tried to think of something.
"One time..." I started again. "One of my brothers was angry over something. Really mad. I tried to talk to him to get him to calm down, but he wasn't having it. He was trying to go for one of our other brothers, so to avoid them fighting, I grabbed him and held him against the wall. I held him there until he stopped resisting and listened to me. Then I let him go."
It wasn't much, but it was the truth. I didn't have to go into unnecessary details with a woman I barely knew.
"Right," Maddy nodded. "I bet being the older brother has a lot of moments like that."
"Sure does," I muttered.
She folded her hands on top of each other and smiled briefly, "And finally, do you have any questions for me?"
I wasn't expecting that, and my frown alone must have put her off.
"Anything you'd like to know about how we run our shifts? Or what a usual night looks like?"
I wasn't particularly interested, but to say that would obviously come across badly.
"What kind of shifts would I be working, if I get the job?" I asked her.
"So, you would start your shift around 9pm normally, unless there's a big event, in which case you may start a little earlier," she explained. "Shifts tend to be six hours long, with you finishing after 3am."
I nodded, sounded like what I expected with such a job. At my lack of further questions, Maddy decided to talk a little bit more about the nightclub and the job role. Most of it had been described online, but I tried to look engaged as she said it all to me again anyway. By the end of it all, she slid out from the booth and shook my hand again.
"So," she said. "We'll give you a ring later on and let you know if you've got an offer for the job."
"Okay," I replied. "And when can I expect to hear back?"
"Probably within a day or two," she replied. "I have a couple more interviews scheduled, plus we're still doing a few background checks. So that takes time too."
I nodded nonchalantly, though I wondered how intensive these background checks would be. Surely if it were anything serious, they would have screened us before the interview process, so I assumed it was nothing to worry about.
"Alright, thanks," I murmured, making my leave.
"Have a nice day," she smiled before I left.
My eyes burned momentarily as they adjusted to the brighter light outside. I walked with my chin high, as usual, and shoulders back. The job may not have sounded appealing, with all the drunk and disorderly I'd have to be managing, but with such a job also came respect. I was strong. People would take one look at me and know they couldn't take me down. I didn't have to smile, in fact, that would work to my advantage of steering away troublemakers. It was hard to believe myself 'cooperating' with the police in particular circumstances, but at least the police here had no idea who I was. Not on first glance anyway. Sure my information was in the system, but I would be the 'good guy' in the situation – and probably for the first time too.
I had just walked through the front door when I got a ping on my phone. Another email. From Pink Moon. I raised my brows, not expecting them to have made a decision already. It had been about an hour since the interview ended. On my way home, I'd topped up on some necessities. Milk, bread and the likes.
With an uncomfortable stammer in my chest, I opened the email with furrowed brows, not sure what to expect. My brows only frowned deeper when I read what the email said. I skipped past words like 'regretfully' and 'unfortunately' and got to the point. It was a rejection. Due to a previous criminal conviction, they would be unable to take me on as an employee.
I locked my phone and let my hand fall back to my side. Staring ahead into space, I grinded my teeth together.
What. A. Waste. Of. My. Damn. Time.
Swallowing the anger that threatened to overspill from inside me, I resisted the urge to hit or kick at something. I stood there breathing heavily as my heart pounded in protest inside my chest. With all the muscles in my body tensed, I knew there was one thing I had to do now. I grimaced.
Looked like I was going to have to go crawling back to Jazz.