It had been another long night at the dance club and the staff couldn't wait for the bright lights to be turned on signaling the end of the evening. The waitresses began to clean off the tables as the floor security ushered the patrons up the flight of stairs and out the front door.

I was standing off to the side of the stairs watching the departing masses when the bartender from the back bar came running up with a look of panic on his face.

"Boss, there's a Twainese kickboxer at the back bar who told me that he would leave when he's good and friggin ready," he informed me.

Now at this time, the name Muay Thai was unknown so everyone used the phrase Thai kickboxer was used. I followed him to the back bar to confront this person as I believed that it was just another drunk pretending to be tough, but I was shocked at the sight before my eyes.

This person is well over six feet tall and loaded with muscles. His long dark hair framed a chiseled face that had a serious look to it he looked like a dark-haired Dolph Lungren.

I politely informed him that the bar was closed and that he had to leave. He gave me a dirty look and repeated his earlier phrase of leaving when he was good and friggin ready. He was with a friend that was shorter than he was but had a bigger mouth.

"You tell em, Joey," he added.

As skilled in the martial arts as I was I knew I would be no match for this kickboxer. So I left the back area to locate "Karate Bob". He was an assistant instructor at the dojo where I trained and I'd seen him at tournaments take down bigger opponents with his skill. Hell, I was even on the receiving end once when I got stupid.

We had been having one of our loud mock arguments in the dish room and it was an effort for each of us to keep a straight face and not laugh. He turned his back and exited carrying a tray full of glasses. I aimed a kick for his butt but he wheeled about and blocked my kick with his left leg and I was presented with a snap kick to my thigh, I went down like a ton of bricks.

Bob helped me back up and made sure I was alright and then cautioned me not to play games with him, I complied.

Anyway, I told him of the problem and we made our way to the back with Bob losing his sports jacket and tie as he walked.

"Do whatever you need to do to put this giant down," I told my employee.

Soon he was about a foot away from this giant. He was informed that it was time to leave. This monster responded with the same remark of leaving when he was good and friggin ready only this time he raised his fists.

"Get 'em, Joey, get 'em," his little friend urged. "Kiai Joey. Kiai Joey Kiai."

For the uninitiated Kiai is a Japanese term used in martial arts for the short shout uttered when performing an attacking move.

"Get 'em, Joey, get 'em," his little friend urged. "Kiai Joey. Kiai Joey Kiai," his little friend urged his larger friend on. This patron raised his large fists and stared menacingly at Bob.

"Karate Bob" raised his fists and his sharp trained eyes were looking for any sign of weakness in his opponent's stance or telegraphing of the intended punch or kick.

"Kiai," this giant yelled at the top of his lungs.

It was not a shout or a cry but he actually said the word Kiai at the top of his lungs and directed a punch toward Bob's face, but being as far away as Bob was the punch didn't connect. The second that the opponent's arm was straight  Bob dropped low and launched a kick to the monster's stomach and he went down like a ton of bricks. As he was starting to get back up Bob was on him in the blink of an eye and placed him in a painful armlock and was walked to the door.

The other floor security descended on the little instigator and he was also walked to the door.

"There was no need to be so rough," this smaller fellow said. "He doesn't even know kickboxing.

"What?" I asked and stopped.

"Joey tells people that he's a kickboxer and due to his size people believe him and never challenge him. He just likes scaring people," his friend admitted.

Joey was outside talking to the local cops that are always present at closing and I was asked if I was going to press charges. I spoke to the officers and told them what had happened and Joey and his buddy were told to hit the road and never come back.

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Then there was the night that the local narcotics detectives showed up and after identifying themselves asked for a meeting in the office with myself and the managers. There was a notorious drug pusher in the club that had been fingered by an informant and they were anxious to take him into custody. Having no grounds to do so they came up with the idea to have him get involved in a fight. They would rush to assist the club security.

We were told that this individual hated the police and the few times he had been arrested in the past he forcibly resisted being cuffed. They added that this person was well versed in boxing and some form of self-defense.

"I have the perfect person for the job," I replied and went off to find "Karate Bob".

Bob was told to remove his name tag and get a drink at the bar and wander around the area where his bad person was seated. About a half-an-hour later there was a loud argument between "Karate Bob" and the patron that the police were interested in arresting.

"Get him to fight you," he had been told. "When the bouncers and these officers run in to help stop fighting."

Now Bob was sure this was a ploy to get him fired as he had been written up for his temper a few times. It took the assistant manager and the detective sergeant to assure him that there was no ulterior motive.

"This piece of work has been ID'd as selling drugs at the junior high and we want him off the street," the narco detective informed him. 

So Karate Bob removed his name tag and went to the bar and ordered a beer. He then proceeded to wander around the area where this drug pusher was seated. For about an hour he wandered the area giving this pusher the evil eye in hopes of eliciting a physical response, but nothing happened, he was ignored.

When the man rose to leave he glanced at us and we signaled to end the charade, Bob was devastated.

"I normally can start a fight by just walking into a room," he admitted.

The detectives thanked us and left.

"I don't believe it," Bob said again." I couldn't get that creep to do anything more than look at me."

"Hey, it happens," I told him.

"Yeah, but never to me," Bob responded.

He was so depressed that we gave him the rest of the night off.