The World According to Vince - Jane Harvey-Berrick Page 0,40
oiling first, which meant heading to a really sleazy sports bar where we could have triple shots during happy hour and a few beers to get Rick revved up. It wouldn’t take long—he couldn’t handle his drink, the lightweight plonker.
Rafe and Elias were waiting for us at the bar when I dragged a grumbling Rick through the door.
Rafe was frowning and Elias was scowling—they looked a lot alike.
“The barman … who does not deserve that title … doesn’t know how to mix a Cosmopolitan or a Kir Royale or in fact any cocktail because they don’t serve them!” Rafe huffed, his tone full of disgust.
“Yup, we’re starting with beer and shots,” I said, slapping him on the back. He was another bugger who needed to loosen up. “Don’t worry, lads, the Canine Crusader knows how to get the party started.”
Rick shook hands with the guys and thanked them for coming, then I ordered triple tequila shots and beer chasers as we stood at the bar.
Elias necked his three shots and frowned at the food menu. “What’s the GI of this?” he asked, pointing to a picture of a burger wrapped in a bun with cheese and relish dripping out of it.
“Fifty-five or less, mate,” I lied. “The Canine Crusader says enjoy! But we’ve got dinner plans later.”
Rafe sniffed and turned to Elias, “If I hear Vincent mention the Canine Crusader once more, I’m going to vomit. I don’t even like dogs. This is a totally lame bachelor party.”
He was such a kidder, always up for a laugh.
After another set of shots and beer, Rick seemed a bit unsteady on his feet.
“I’m just going to the bog,” he announced in a slurred voice, then weaved his way through the crowd.
“Me, too,” said Rafe, and Elias nodded in agreement.
Rick reappeared a couple of minutes later.
We waited, but Rafe and Elias were still missing in action, so we sat there sipping our beers, eating crisps (what the natives called ‘chips’), and watching highlights from last Friday’s Kansas City Chiefs versus the Forty-Niners.
“Didn’t you see Rafe and Elias in the bog?” I asked after a while.
“No, I didn’t. What, they both went to the toilet at the same time as me? I think they’ve ditched us.”
“Nah, they wouldn’t do that, they’re good lads,” I assured Rick.
“They’ve been gone half an hour.”
“No one ditches the Canine Crusader!”
“Mate, stop talking about yourself in the third person. It’s not cool.”
“My personality is so big, it’s like there’s three of me. Anyway they’re probably going to meet us as the strip club.”
Rick stood up, leaning slightly to the left as he grabbed the bar top. “Bloody hell! I told you, no strippers—Cady would kill me. And then she’d kill you. Then she’d dig me up and make sure she’d done it properly.”
I patted him on the shoulder and he lurched forwards. “You can trust the Vin-meister.”
“No, I can’t,” he mumbled. “He’s got a death wish.”
“Of course you trust me!” I said, throwing an arm around my lightweight mate. “This way to our limo.”
Outside, a Pedicab was waiting.
“You wanna pedal first or me?”
Rick scowled. “I’m not getting in that.”
“But it’s environmentally friendly! I’m the Canine Crusader—I have to think about my Instagram feed. Here, get a shot of me on the bike!”
Rick gave in with good grace, and since he was only the groom and I was the best man, I made him do the pedaling for the five blocks to the strip club.
Rick’s first clue that this was no ordinary strip club were the crowds of screaming women lining up outside.
“Don’t worry, I know the doorman,” I yelled over the noise as we parked in a side alley. “I’ve pulled a few strings to get us in.”
“What is he talking about? What are you talking about?”
“Trust me! Have I ever led you astray?”
“Yes, every time you open your mouth.”
I pushed a reluctant Rick inside, wondering if all stag nights were such hard work. I couldn’t remember much about the ones I’d been to before because after the first hour, everything was a bit hazy, so I was working from ideas I’d found on the internet.
“Your costumes are over there, guys,” said one of the theater staff. “Enjoy your bachelor party. Don’t forget to sign your personal injury waiver before you go on.”
“What costumes?” Rick asked warily. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, man, this is going to be epic! You’ll love it!” I said gleefully, proud of my plan.
I’d brought the costumes to the theater yesterday, having thought really