“I am waiting for my associate,” Cuchulainn said. “You may go ahead of me.”
Everyone was staring at him. He wore a pink & white tuxedo, his best outfit, and was the only person in line with an umbrella. The doors had just opened and everyone was anxious to get in from the storm. Cuchulainn was not accustomed to nightlife, but he had been stared at before.
The people's attention turned to Stinko the clown emerging from a taxi at the intersection.
“Stinko!” Cuchulainn waved. “Your paint is running. Take cover with me.”
Stinko got under the umbrella and grunted. Cuchulainn put a friendly arm around him.
“How are you, old boy? Do you have my documents?”
“Yeah, I got it,” said Stinko. “I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this, though. How old are you again?”
“Do not ask my age!”
“Right, right.” Stinko glanced around and handed Cuchulainn a driver's license.
Cuchulainn examined it. “Excellent. Add the expenses to your hourly fee.”
“Yeah, and about that,” said Stinko, “can you stop hiring me for every event you go to? When you said it was a party I actually thought this was legit. Then I saw it was 11pm.”
“Oh, Stinko!” Cuchulainn gave him a light jab. “You stick-in-the-mud! I am delighted to party together.”
Stinko shook his head. “Let's just get it over with. Maybe next time don't make a criminal out of me.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“The ID.”
“You obtained this via crime?”
“It's a fake ID. It's illegal.”
“And you agreed to this?”
“It was your idea!”
“Stinko!” Cuchulainn shouted through the rain. “You would implicate me in your wicked enterprise?”
The line moved closer to the door.
“Shame on you, Stinko!” Cuchulainn went on. “If I did not need an escort I would send you back to your miserable home!”
“I would rather go home!” said Stinko.
“I cannot believe you have me carrying your contraband.”
“I can take it back if you'd rather not get in.”
“Shut up!” Cuchulainn clutched his ID. “Spare me your mafia goon tricks.”
The music got louder as they approached the door. The bouncer took one look at them together and his jaw dropped. “What the hell are you two supposed to be?”
“Good evening, doorman,” said Cuchulainn. “Here is my photo identification. I think you will find everything is -”
“No,” said the bouncer. “You can’t come in here dressed as a clown.”
“Yes,” said Cuchulainn, “but if you look at my date of birth and-”
“Yeah, whatever,” said the bouncer. “Go on in, but Ronald McDonald here is out of luck.”
Stinko was not surprised.
“Well, Stinko,” Cuchulainn handed him the umbrella. “I am going to look very stupid in there on my own, but have this and wait here for me.”
“Wait for you?”
“You are still on the clock!” said Cuchulainn. “And this will give you time to reflect on your illegal dealings.”
“You can't be -”
“Arrange for a taxi on my signal.”
"Son of a bitch."
“My good man!” Cuchulainn turned back to the bouncer, who patted him down. He went in to the dance floor, disappointed how things had transpired, but mostly just relieved that they missed the combat knife in his cummerbund.