The fabulous life of Disco Jack

My God he was stylish, and not just the way he dressed, or the way his hair always stayed in place, but the way in which he moved. It was like watching an Angel with an afro. No matter what he was doing he timed his movements to perfection; be it dancing, walking or fighting his way up a staircase. Which is what he was in the process of doing.

“One, two, three, four.” Jack sung the numbers as he ascended the stairs. He was keeping the rhythm of his step and at the same time counting the number of attackers he dispatched.

Me? I was watching him from the bottom of the steps, as was usually the case. I wasn’t like Jack, I couldn’t do the things he could, I just followed him around. I guess you could say that I was his side-kick, watching in rapt admiration as the hero went about his daring deeds. The current deed at hand had to do with a woman and her subsequent honour.

Jack and been on the dance floor when he had heard her cry out from the top floor of the club. A mob boss wasn’t happy with the way his date was acting, so he introduced her to the back of his hand; repeatedly. Jack, being the type of guy he was, waited until the current song had finished before protesting against her treatment.

“Stop!” He shouted, in his best ‘Do-as-I-say-or-else’ voice.

His shout, timed to fit in perfectly in gap between songs had attracted the attention of its target. Now, whether it was smart to order a mob boss around or not wasn’t on Jacks mind, all he knew was that the music was playing, the disco ball was spinning, and this was his chance to impress. Where as the mob boss knew that he had only to click his fingers to spur his men into action. And click his fingers he did.

“Teach him some manners, boys.” Said the boss with cool, calm confidence.

Five men in total started to walk down towards to Jack. Perhaps they didn’t expect him to come dancing up the stairs at them, evidence of this came in the way they fell back into each other, making them easy targets from Jacks ring laden hand, which fell repeatedly onto their faces. Jacks white suit some turned crimson as the last of the goons collapsed back onto the cold, blood splattered steps.

I was still standing at the bottom of the stair case, staring in awe, along with every other person in the club. The awe turned to glee as Jack reached the mob boss himself, the glee to frenzied excitement as he grabbed the girl by the arm and spun her to his side in the most dashing way possible. If I were to have gone and saved her, assuming I made it past the goons, I would have most likely spun her off of the balcony, sending her crashing into the bar top below, but not Jack.

By the look in the woman’s eyes she had already fallen in love with him, and who cloud blame her? Everyone in the club was in his funky grasp at the moment. Then, in that instant, our frenzied excitement turned to horror as the mob boss pulled out a handgun.

“Shit.” Said Jack, displaying an unusual lack of composure.

But his composure wasn’t lost for long. In one smooth motion he lifted a beer bottle from a near by table and threw it at the gun wielding mob boss, the bottle hit him square in the chest, shattering on impact, but he still held the gun firm, meaning it was time to leave. Jack grabbed the woman’s hand and told her to run. They both headed for the stair case as the beer soaked mob boss took aim and fired, missing, perhaps due to the large amounts of glass embedded in his face. The shot had an effect on the previously static members of the club, in that they all started running, screaming, flailing and making it very difficult for the mob boss to get a clear shot, though that didn’t stop him from trying his luck.

“Lets get out of hear.” I shouted to Jack, who was quickly descending the stair case with he woman stuck firmly to his arm.

Another shot rang out, we heard the bullet ricochet somewhere near us.

“The card! Don’t forget the card.” He shouted back at me.

Without arguing I took out a small white card and with a flick of the wrist sent it spinning up the stair case, managing to land it on the chest of one of the goons Jack had so valiantly beaten. The card was important to Jack, they were his calling cards; ‘Jack Disco; lover, dancer, inspiration to all.’ they read. Because you see, a man of Jacks fame couldn’t do without a calling card. I could go without one apparently, being the side-kick and all, but the truth is we were both famous. Or, infamous should I say?

“Good job, lets get out of hear.” Said Jack in an adrenaline fuelled tone.

As we ran to our car, woman still in tow, we could hear sirens off in the distance. And it wouldn’t do us any good to be there when we arrived. We weren’t just two regular guys out for a good time, we were wanted in 12 states for murder, robbery and arson. The police arrived as we drove away. Drove away to an unsure location, and with an unknown woman in the back of our car.

The year was 1974.