Originally posted by IMAA
Bouncer fight
January 19 2003 at 7:14 PM Sandman (no login)
SOMETHING I FOUND AS I WAS SERFING THE NET. KINDA GOES ALONG THE LINES OF THE BIUJEE ( EYE GOUGING) OF jkd
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This one's rather lengthy but I hope you find it entertaining.
Enter silly season '97. Somewhere around Halloween that year, while working at Denim & Diamonds, we had quite a rash a nasty fights break out in The Mine (the top-40, hip-hop side of the club). We had big brawls and clusters of smaller fights breaking out almost every night we were open that holiday season. Somewhere during all this mayhem there was another, smaller but just as serious, problem brewing. John Signer, 42, of Horn Lake, MS., had become somewhat of a regular to D&D. There was something more menacing about Signer than his 6'4" frame carrying 280 lbs of mass. He had a look about him that got my attention. I don't know if some of the other guys on this forum that are or have worked in a club, like BK, Budoguy, or Eagle can relate to this but sometimes I read someone by the expression or their face and the way they carry themselves, and they just send out bad vibes. I mean you just took one look at this guy and knew he was going to be trouble. In fact, the first thought that came to my mind was he could be a pin-up boy for serial rapists.
Well it didn't take long to prove my suspicions correct. I started receiving a number of customer and staff complaints on this guy. He made a habit of inviting himself to sit at tables with groups of women, take one of their drinks, and say very lewd a vulgar things to them. The women went from annoyed to frightened by this guy and got up, found me or one of my crew, complained and left. Meanwhile, Mr. Signer made himself scarce and either moved on to another table, a beer-tub, a shooter bar with only one or two female bartenders, and would do the same thing to them, or he had already done this and left before we could catch him. Bear in mind, D&D is the largest night club in the Mid-South and generally has over 4500 patrons covering a 140,000 sq. ft. floor by midnight on any given busy night. We were always overcrowded and usually ran on a skeleton crew and during this particular period we were being swamped with an unusually high number of fights and other problems on the floor, the doors, and in the parking lots. We weren't leaving the club unprotected, but were spread thin enough that this guy slipped through our fingers 2 weekends in a row.
Yeah, I know, I'm probably giving too much unnecessary detail but I'm just trying to paint a vivid picture for you, so bear with me. Anyhoo, on Nov. 22nd, the Sat. night before Thanksgiving '97, Mr. Signer is up to his usual antics and gets busted red handed this time. I had gone to the men's room in the D&D Bar'n Grill, the third club at D&D, A live band called the Acousticats were playing and had packed in a good crowd. Signer walked in about a minute behind me and while I was making a headcall, he saddled up to the bar ordered a Jack and Coke then says, "Get it? Jack? Like jacking off. Get it?" The bartender ignores him and gives his drink and moves on. Signer evidently became offended that the bartender didn't find him or his poor attempt at humor very amusing and began groping his crotch, flicking his tongue out, and saying very nasty things to the bartender. All of the bartenders had house radios and we monitored their channel in case they had a problem. So as I finished washing up, the call goes out that there's a code yellow in the bar'n grill. I rush out and there's Mr. Pervert standing in front of the register in full form. Groping himself and screaming obscenities at the bartender who is visibly worried and has her radio in one hand a ball bat in the other ordering this guy out and ready to clock him. I rushed in from the side and wrapped up his elbows and pulled him backwards out the bar'n grills' emergency exit. Dean and Tim had responded to the call and the bartender told them I was already dealing with it and we were outside. I took him around the corner of the building, let him go, and as Dean and Tim arrived we told him was not welcome here again and not come back. He argued with us for a minute and another call goes out on the security channel and we've got a code red (major cluster****) at bar 1 on the Country & Western side. Mr. Murphy saw to it that we didn't have time to deal with Mr. Pervert that night but we made our position clear that he was not allowed to come back. The code red turned out to be a yellow about to go red but no one wanted to play because half the crew came out of the woodwork in seconds and everyone settled down and left peacefully. In the back of my mind I was wishing I had made a copy of Mr. Pervert's ID because I knew we hadn't seen the last of him.
Nov. 27th, Thanksgiving Day, most people are off work for the holiday weekend (except us) and we had a very busy Wed. night. Lot's of young people, lots of problems. Funny how large groups of intoxicated young people can find a way to **** up a good time isn't it? We were geared up and ready to rock on Turkey Day. SSDD, fights by the dozens, drugs by the bushel, yes the silly season had indeed arrived, with all it's festive, holiday ****ing cheer. My regular doormen were absent (all four of them, were either out of town spending the holiday with family or called in at the beginning of the 3 day drunk), and I was pulling double duty from about 7 p.m. 'til 11 p.m. that night working the door with fill-ins. As the crowd started to pour in I felt the new guys on the door were doing well enough that they didn't need a baby-sitter and I needed to get my happy butt out on the floor. About a half hour later a call comes over the radio that there's some big crazy guy masturbating at the main bar in the bar'n grill. "Son of a *****!" No one was close by and we had a dense crowd to negotiate to get there. We were wfo when we hit the entrance to the grill but I already knew what I was going to find before I entered the room. Yep, Mr. Pervert again! Seems he managed to wait until I was off the door (probably watching through binoculars from the parking lot) then got in easy as pie. Surveillance tapes later showed he walked right up, got in line, went to the substitute doormen, showed ID, got his wrist band, and calmly strolled into the bar'n grill back to the same bar, same bartender, and started up where he had left off from the previous weekend. Only this time he had unzipped his fly, and was masturbating underneath the bar top while sitting on the stool talking the same trash to the bartender and again when we arrived she was prepared to (and trying to) cold cock his *** with the slugger. He was actually standing in front of the bar, dick in hand, ejaculating in front of probably a couple of hundred stunned customers with a really sick, disgusting look on his face staring intently at Amy (Shadow by the way), our bartender who's both freaked out and pissed off and swinging the bat over the register screaming like mad. Dean hit him full throttle with a shoulder spear taking him to the floor. Rolled him over, hooked his neck and arm, I got the other arm and once again drug him backwards out the e-exit door. Dean gave the nod, I put my foot on his instep and let go while Dean rolled him. He landed a few feet in front of us and we ordered him to pull up his pants and zip his fly. I personally wasn't too crazy about the idea of touching him again.
At this point, from the instant Dean hit him in the bar to now, he has not changed expressions, tongue still out disgusting look on his face, and no emotion in his eyes. This guy was out to ****ing Pluto for lunch. We finally got him to comply to our commands, rolled him over, cuffed him, brought him to his feet, and were discussing whether to just copy his ID, make him sign the release form, and let him go to get back on the very busy floor, or deal with this by the book. About this time Mr. Pervert seemed to return from wonderland (hard to describe but kind of like he was asleep with his eyes open and suddenly woke up) and decided he was mad at Dean for the scrapes and bump on his head he was only now seeming to take notice of. He rushed Dean only then realizing he was handcuffed, and Dean just sidestepped, tripped him, and let him fall on his face. So he made our decision for us. I picked him up, pinned his face to the wall and whispered something charming in his ear to convince him not to do that again. So we haul his goofy *** into the club security office and put him the holding cell. Called MPD East Precinct non-emergency for a transport. Copied his ID (Had to fight tooth and nail just to get that) asked him to sign our documents agreeing and understanding that he was barred for life never to return and if he did so he would be taken into custody and charged with criminal trespass and whatever we decided to make up. He responded by spitting on the papers, looking up at me with a twisted smile and giving me a wink. All-righty then. Fortunately S.U. (MPD officer who is also a personal friend) was riding that night and we didn't have to sit with this ****er for too long. Dean and I briefed him on what went down and S.U. runs him through NCIC and finds our Mr. Pervert is not exactly a fine upstanding pillar of the community. In fact he has quite a lengthy list of priors that included two for aggravated assault, another indecent exposure (misdemeanor charge by the way), DUIs out the ***, and a felony weapons charge. Signer was sitting the cell doing the usual apologizing and pleading after PD showed up. He even began to cry and beg but no one had sympathy for this fruitcake. He was compliant with the officer while we changed out cuffs and walked him to the patrol car, all the way until the cop put his hand on his head to put him in the backseat and he just snapped again. U. put him down and sprayed him with OC gas. I've been sprayed so many times by accident that it doesn't bother me that much anymore but this guy took 3 good shots to his eyes and it didn't phase him. The two cops and Dean and I grabbed him up and I was debating on putting him to sleep at this point but just continued to wrestle him into the backseat, since I didn't know U's partner that well at the time and that sort of thing is a big no-no once they're cuffed.So now we have documentation, more witnesses, and a police report, to fall back on in the event that this guy comes back. Which is basically what I told Dean as Mr. Pervert was screaming threats and obscenities through the window of the bluelight taxi as they drove him away for fun filled holiday adventure at suite 201 Poplar Ave., Shelby County's jail and vacation resort. I told Dean "You know it's personal now and he's gonna come back, right?" Dean agreed we had not seen the last of this psycho. "Yeah, he'll be back but we'll be ready.. And we have enough witnesses and paperwork now that if it does get personal, we can keep our asses out of the frying pan."
Okay, back to business. Two ****ing days later. Saturday night, same weekend. It's been a hell of a holiday weekend so far and we're not even at the witching hour yet. About 10 'til midnight, call goes out, "Charlie One to Sandman", "Sandman, go ahead", "We just got the word from one of the club staff that your biggest fan, Mr. Pervert is in here again and they think he's looking for you", "Copy that. Subject's last known 20?", "Leaving the Country side coming into the Mine at the South entrance by bar 2." "10-4, Sandman and Ranger in route." Dean and I were crossing a dance floor in the Mine near the location Mr. Pervert was last seen when we got the call. We perched a riser to look over the crowd coming in the South entrance. We give a hand signal to the Alpha team in the Mine to tighten up and keep an eye out. Dean and I are back to back scanning through the crowd and I felt someone grab my foot while on the riser. I looked down and it was Signer. He yells something cute like, "Hey mother****er I'm fixin' to hurt your ***.", but didn't get a chance to get it all out because Dean and I bailed off our platform on top of him and we all hit the floor swinging. He takes a shot at me that I slipped and answered with left jab to his chin. Didn't even phase him. Dean is trying to control his left arm to lock it in a chicken wing and pin him for cuffing. He slips, rolls, or just pulls out of it. Whatever, somehow he gets loose and backhands Dean to the floor. Dean is my size and was an ex-Army Ranger and 17 year bouncer then. He told me later, "Man, I don't what to tell you. I've been to two World's Fairs and a goat roping contest and I've never seen any **** like that before. I had his shoulder jammed and he pulled out of it like I was a kid and hit me like a Mack truck!" I hooked the back of his head and jumped into him and gave him a knee to chew on and put him down with a clothesline that bounced his head off the floor, hardwood dance floor that is. It should have at least stunned him but he was trying to get back up as soon as he hit. Like a human rubber ball. I kicked him in the chest and sat him back down and Dean had his cobwebs cleared and was pretty pissed at this point. Dean pounced on him and just started nailing him left, right, left, right. Bam-bam-bam! Dean has a strong punch and from the mount he should have knocked this guy into next week. Signer didn't seem to be stunned or really even affected by Dean's flurry. We both grabbed an arm and hoisted him up and ran backwards with him to the nearest exit door which was to the back alley of the Mine behind bar 4. We bounced him off everything around us once we were behind the bar going down the hall that led to the back alley door. We open the door with the back of his head and rolled him out on the pavement. I ran over and jumped on him and rolled him over to handcuff him and he starts screaming and apologizing again and begging us to let him go. About this time another call goes out on the radio, "Fight in the Mine! Fight in the Mine! Back dance floor! Back dance floor! Code red! Repeat, code red!" Dean and I look at each other and I tell him, "Go to it!" He says, "Have you got this one?" I answer, "Yeah I'm cuffing him now, I've got it. Now go!" Dean is gone is a blink and somehow I've become distracted just enough for Signer's wrist to slip free with my cuffs attached and he tucked both arms under his body. This is where I should have just done things the easy way and said, "Okay, goodnight *******." , and put him to sleep.
But no, like an idiot I fought with him to get control of his arm and again, somewhere in the struggle, this ****er manages to turn over on his side, get his left hand free again and backhand me with my own cuffs. Caught me good right in the mouth with my own ****ing cuffs. Hurt like hell, another tooth is gone, and blood is pouring from my mouth, but everything is still working. Now I'm tasting my own blood, getting really pissed, and ready to go to war with this ****er. I don't know why but it's always been that way for me. I guess it's partly due to the passive nature Aikido instills in me but I don't really want to hurt anyone in a fight if I don't have to but once I'm hurt I go from calm to kill mode. Maybe a primal defensive mechanism that switches on after an injury. So anyway, I got up stepped back to regroup and spit and shake off the pain for a second and said, "Okay mother****er, you want to do things the hard way? You wanted to hurt me right? Come get some!", or something poetic like that. I decided I wanted him back on his feet; he was too strong and dangerous to be on the ground with and he would be easier to deal with with both of us standing, so I thought. Mr. Pervert scrambled to his feet and I thought he was ready to accept my invitation but he turned his back to me and started to walk away. I'm thinking, "What the **** is going on now with this crazy ****er?" So I rush in and grab his left shoulder to spin him while yelling something like, "Oh no you don't Mr. mother****er!" ****ing ***** tried to backhand me again which was anticipated and I slipped that shot but he whirled all the way around and caught me in the throat with an open hand and sent me to the ground with him on top of me. Now we're back on the ground, me on the bottom this time, he's past my guard, knees by each hip and he's got both of his paws wrapped around my neck choking the piss out of me and slamming the back of my head into the pavement. I remember clearly to this day, mainly because I had to tell story over and over to my crew, the club owner, club staff, of course the cops, an inspector in a follow up, my attorney, the D.A., the judge, and everybody and their brother before it was over, thinking to myself, "How in the **** did I get myself into this ****?!" (By the way. Shadow just pointed out that I've been using the word "****" excessively in this story. My apologies,it was an intense situation and sometimes I'm not a gentleman.)
So anyhoo, back to the mayhem. I'm getting choked pretty severely and my head is split open and getting pounded into the pavement. I realize both my hands are free and both of his are occupied. A cynical came over me, "Silly rabbit" or so I thought. So I jabbed him in the right eye. Nothing. Okay. Left eye. Nothing again. I mean no reaction at all. Still choking me. Still slamming my head into the asphalt and not even hinting at slowing down. Both eyes, same time. I worked my right thumb into his left socket up to the first joint and tried to smash the cornea. That got his attention and he jerked his head away. I pulled down into his collar bones and drove a knee into his groin. Nothing, still going. He's got both my airway and carotids pressed good now and I know I'm in serious trouble if I pass out. I've made a lot of 5-alarm mistakes up to this point but I did not hit the panic button. I kneed him again, then went back into his eyes and throat and kneed him again, and I finally hurt him enough to where he stopped slamming my head but I could not get him to let go. I tried small joint attack on his right pinky and laid it over to dislocation before he loosened his grip with that hand. I'm getting very light headed and don't have much time left. I snaked my hand between his arms, punched him in the throat, gave his left arm an outside arm wrap, broke his grip, popped him in the chin, pulled on the top of his hair and cranked on his arm. He punches me in the cheek and nose with his left hand but now I can breathe. So I've still got his right arm wrapped and cranked tight and his head pulled down so he can't get much speed behind his strikes. I pulled him down within range gave him a head butt to the nose and looked up at the nose in the streetlight and saw the blood pouring from his eyes and nose and dripping down on me and thought "Oh **** it, why not?!", and still with a handful of hair, pulled him back down, turned my head slightly and bit into the bridge of his nose and held on. He thrashed and squirmed and really started pounding on me with short jabs with his left hand. He got free, ripped his hair out, and fell over to the right side going with the arm-wrap. Just the break I was looking for. I bridged my hips and torqued his arm and pulled him over. I finally got this ****er off me and started gaining some ground on stopping him. So I assumed the mount, let go of his arm, went for his throat (turn-about is fair play) and pinned his head down and let loose with a right hand to the nose/cheek area, another to his chin just to turn his head and get the angle right, and dropped the hammer on his temple. His hands let go and I stopped. He was finally out. He had multiple facial fractures and lacerated arteries. Blood was pouring out of him. I rolled him over to cuff him and he started coughing in the reddish-orange puddle that had formed under his face. He was still out but stirring. I just sat on his back, got on the radio, "Sandman to Ranger or Alpha team, respond." Dean answered back "Ranger, go ahead." "Well, it was a code red 30 seconds ago but we're back in the green now. Better get on the horn and get MPD and the paramedics rolling. Respond to back alley of the Mine." So the available crew is in the back alley in seconds and I'm still sitting on Mr. Pervert having a cigarette and nursing a broken hand. He's still out. Kim (Charlie 1) , one of the female bouncers on the crew, was an EMT as well. She checked him for vitals and she said he was going into shock and barely breathing. We sat him up against the brick wall she got a blanket from her truck which was close by. The paras arrived first and began giving him medical attention. MPD arrived at the point. His jaw, nose, cheek, and zygomatic bone were broken on the left side. He had a massive hemotoma and swelling behind his left eye and it came forward and completely out of the socket as they loaded him into the ambulance. He was pronounced critical and had to be rushed to the Med (trauma center). Some of the cops on the scene knew me but most didn't and were questioning my story and suspected I might have hit him with my pistol, a flashlight, or some blunt object saying that I couldn't have done that kind of damage with just my hands. The cops started questioning me at about 10 after midnight and went on for another hour.
I finally told the little smart *** lieutenant "Look at my report tomorrow. I've got to get some ice on this hand , get my head sewed up, and get back on the floor. If you're going to charge me with something go ahead, if not I'm not giving you any more information for your report. If I'm going to be interrogated I want my attorney present." They backed off and let me go ice my hand and tape it up, I taped and plugged my nose, Kim did my stitches, and I changed shirts and went back on the floor. I ended up with 8 stitches, lost a molar, broke two knuckles in my right hand, a broken nose, and just minor cuts and bruises on my face and neck. Mr. Signer, on the other hand, was not so lucky. He was knocked out at approx. midnight, went comatose, and did not come out of it until 3 a.m., 2 weeks later. When he came out of the coma he stayed at the ICU for a few more days before he was taken to 201 for processing. When h made bond, he got some hotshot civil suit attorney. He concocted a wild story that he was just minding his own business and attempting to leave the club (you know, the place he was barred from for life for masturbating to a bartender, who just happened to be my fiance' at the time) and the entire crew grabbed him and drug into the back alley and held him down while I kicked him in the face for no reason. Got to love it. So it drug out for 2 ½ years and when it was about to go upstairs to the grand jury the D.A. meets with our attorneys and his new attorney and the new guy says "I've had it. I don't want to pursue this any further. He's changed his story 3 times already and to be quite honest if I call him to the stand, I don't know who will be there." The rest of us look like monkeys working calculus and ask what he means. "Well, it seems he's a classic schizophrenic. He's got real multiple personalities. Three that I'm aware of. He's certifiable and needs to be in an asylum." So Mr. Signer got himself another attorney before it was over, he was suing for $2 million by the way, and got all geared up to go to trial and waste tax payers dollars on a case he had no chance of winning and the trial date was set for mid-May 2000 and he had a heart attack and died that April. But while he was alive he was one tough, crazy, son of a *****. I'm not kidding, this guy so ****ing strong I couldn't do any with him while he was on top of me but try to seriously injure him and he did not respond to pain worth a damn. I hit him with everything I had and it hardly phased him. Like a vicious monster 1%er biker jacked on PCP. There was nothing normal about this creep. Oh well, don't have to worry about him anymore. Well, hope you enjoyed the story. The wife says I should write a book after I retire, which (she says) will probably be in the next couple of years. Ha! Yeah right. Take it easy.
Later,
Sandman out.
