By around midnight the place was about packed. Billy and Danny on guard out front were letting in a few more than usual to make sure they didn't inadvertently turn Vince Rossiter away and ruin Seraph's plan to kill him. The extra crowd didn't make things any easier for Leslie. Having to carefully scan through all the additional faces was difficult enough, but while he was doing this some of the punters and a few others who just liked to talk would see him inside on his own for a change and come over and try to get a chat on with him. Leslie would be as pleasant as possible under the circumstances for a few seconds, but by his aloof manner and politely ignoring them, they all soon got the message that he'd rather be left and drifted off to re-join their friends; all except Stacey.

Stacey was a good-looking divorcee in her early thirties; she'd been married twice. Her first husband owned a big trucking business but was accidentally killed at work, leaving Stacey a fortune. Her second husband was a rich bookmarker who also spoiled Stacey with plenty of money and gifts before he kicked her to the curb and left her with a new BMW, a wardrobe full of jewels and furs, and a three-bedroom penthouse overlooking the beach. As a well stacked blonde, Stacey, in her modelling days, used to be one of the best sorts in the city. Even now, thanks to the occasional injections of silicone, aerobic dancing and the odd face lift once in a while, she was still a head-turner. Stacey's main pleasures in life were spending money, hanging around the Prince Club and throwing as many good-looking young men in the air as she could get her hands on. Some may say she as a 'thot.' 

One man she was keen to get her hands on for some reason was Leslie - possibly because, being a fit bloke, she imagined he'd be alright in bed, but mainly because he always seemed to avoid her. Stacey, in a subtle sort of way, must have hit on Leslie almost a hundred times in and out of the club, but Leslie always politely found some excuse not to go back to her place for a drink or a smoke or a whatever. This both mystified and frustrated Stacey. With her money and looks, she had hoards of good-looking young men clawing over each other to get to her. Yet here was a man, nothing more than a bouncer in an illegal gambling casino who wouldn't wear her if she was a mink coat.

However, it wasn't as if Leslie wasn't interested; he would have loved to get in Stacey's pants and go for a ride in the new BMW. It was just that Leslie wasn't exactly keen on screwing any of the women who worked or hung around the Prince Club. It could lead to complications. Leslie was a frim believer in his friends Billy's advice: 'never shit in your own nest.' Besides, there were that many women living in the city he didn't have to bother anyway. But Stacey had noticed Leslie standing inside on his own instead of out the front. Tonight, of all nights, she was determined to get the big redhead one way or another. The minute she him while walking up the stairs around eleven p.m., she tried to get him for a conversation. Leslie, in his usual polite manner, spoke to her for a short while eventually getting her to move along. But she kept coming back - five times in the next hour, in fact. Leslie was always affable enough, but would continually find some excuse to get rid of her. This only got under Stacey's skin more. Finally, at about 12:30 and with enough beers under her belt, she stormed back up to Leslie.

"Leslie Mason, why have you been avoiding me?" she asked defiantly. "You've been positively rude to me all night. Aren't I young enough or good looking enough for you?"

Leslie smiled wearily at her. "I haven't been avoiding you Stacey," he slowly replied. "I'm just busy, that's all. I mean, I do work here." Standing there in front of him, Leslie took a good look at her and noticed what she was wearing. Stacey was wearing the skimpiest pink-knotted top you could ever imagine and no bra - which made absolutely no difference at all to her silicone-reinforced boobs. The rest of her was tightly tucked into a pair of black leather pants which look as if they've been sprayed on "As for your looks Stacey," he added. "In that outfit you look hornier than a longboat full of Viking's helmets. That's all." He turned away and tried to ignore her while continuing to check out the people coming up the stairs.

But Stacey was persistent. She took a deep breath and moved up closer to Leslie, poking her massive boobs in his chest. "Les," she cooed. "What's the matter with me? Don't you find me exciting?" She moved in closer again. "Have you ever been excited Les? When was the last time you were excited?"

Leslie looked at her quizzingly. He didn't quite know what to do. Maybe if he said something stupid to her she'd go away.

"The last time I was excited?" he said. "Let me think. That would be back in my rugby days when I was playing second row. We were down sixteen to fourteen with two minutes to go, and I ran the length of the field to score a try. That was exciting."

Stacey let out a little sigh of frustration. "That's not what I meant," she said, gritting her teeth slightly. "I mean really excited, Les. When was the last time you were really excited?"

Leslie looked at her again for a moment. More people were starting to come up the stairs and he was beginning to get a bit annoyed. "Really excited, eh? Alright. I was playing front row in the grand final. We were behind ten to six with a good minute to go. I managed to crash over from dummy half and score a try right under the posts, making it ten to nine. That was really exciting." 

Stacey gave another frustrated sigh. She couldn't believe the answers he was giving her. "That's not what I meant," she said angrily. "Come here." She took Leslie's hand and placed it on her prominent crotch. "There," she said. "That's what I mean Les. Can you remember the last time you felt a nice cunt?"

Leslie stared her down and slowly nodded her head. "Yeah. When I missed the conversion. Now look Stacey, will you just piss off and leave me alone? I've got work to do." He turned away from her. She spun on her heel and disappeared in the crowd, almost in tears.

With the nuisance finally out of the road, Leslie was now able to concentrate his attention on the people coming up the stairs. So far, he hadn't noticed anyone who aroused his or Seraph's suspicions. Around them the place was still quite crowded, and although Leslie had been intently scanning everybody who came up the stairs, gazing into the well-dressed assemblage milling about the club he began to notice just who was there. There were at least a dozen well-know TV and media personalities. They seemed to be mingling among a heavy concentration of wealthy racehorse owners. Scores of bejewelled socialites were rubbing elbows with some notorious villains, and over near a blackjack table Perry was standing with his arms folded having a joke with two bishops. Christ, thought Leslie. If Rossiter goes off in here before we can get him it'll make headlines for the next six months. He glanced over at Seraph with raised eyebrows. Seraph caught his eye and shook his head almost imperceptibly from side to side.

A tall, leggy, blonde model playing roulette caught his attention momentarily when, out of the corner of his eye, Leslie thought he saw Seraph stiffening at the top of the stairway. He quickly switched his attention to what Seraph was staring at. As he got to the top of the stairs, Leslie could see it was an old bloke wearing a conservatively cut blue suit and horn-rimmed glasses. On his arm was a sexy redhead old enough to be his daughter. From his experiences around the place, Leslie pinned her to be a high class hooker. They stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, then the old man said something to the redhead and she moved off towards the ladies room. He don't look like an old bloke, Leslie thought to himself, watching him stand there. The man was ramrod straight and there was no stoop at all or any sign of a paunch. He looked across and noticed Seraph was glaring at the old man.

On the other side of the room, Perry was still talking to the two bishops. The old man seemed to notice Perry, slipped his hand under his coat and moved towards him. As he moved out in the crowd, Leslie wasn't sure but he thought he noticed a slight dip in his shoulder. He was about to draw Seraph's attention when, like a phantom, Seraph showed up behind the old bloke. He was about a third of the way towards Perry when Seraph reached him and whispered something into the old man's ear. The old bloke froze and turned his head slightly. Then, Seraph seemed to pat the old man on the small of his back with his right hand and gripped him under the armpit with his left. Seraph had scarcely touched the old man when Leslie appeared on the other side, took the man under the right arm and they started moving him towards the door.

As they eased him through the crowd, Leslie was surprised at the way the man, whoever it was, put up absolutely no struggle at all. His legs seemed to be moving but the rest of him felt uncannily limp. His eyes stared straight ahead and he had a slightly surprised look on his face, similar to one of mild shock. Other than that, he was expressionless. He never said a word or uttered a sound. It was almost as if he was in a trance. Effortlessly, and without anyone in the club noticing a thing out of the ordinary, they walked the old man to the top of the stairs where Seraph stopped, turned towards Perry and nodded his head briefly. Under his tight grip, Leslie could feel the muscled hardness in the old bloke's arms; a quick glance up revealed a pair of very surprised, bright green eyes behind the tinted glasses.

"Is this Rossiter?" Leslie asked, as they started moving him down the stairs.

"Yep," Seraph replied, then called out to Billy to ask if he would open the car door.

They didn't rush. They just moved the still trance-like Rossiter down the stairs, through the door and out onto the footpath. Danny, standing grim-faced in the doorway, gave Leslie a knowing wink as he went past to let him know he knew exactly what was going on. They shuffled Rossiter across the footpath to where Billy was standing, holding the rear door for the Rolls Royce open. That sat Rossiter in the back seat. Billy closed the door and Leslie walked around and got in on the other side. As he did, he noticed Seraph say something to Billy and point towards the club before jumping in behind the wheel. From the time they spotted Rossiter in the club, to Seraph hitting him and them getting into the car wouldn't have taken more than two minutes.

"That was pretty smooth mate," Leslie said, his adrenalin still pumping slightly. "What'd you say to Billy?"

"Oh..." Seraph replied, starting the motor. "I just told him to give the girl Rossiter came in with some cash and tell her that her friend got sick, had to go home and left her money for a taxi."

"Who do you reckon she was?"

"I don't know... Just some escort he got to make sure he got in." Seraph snatched a quick glance in the rear-view mirror, put the car into drive and made a U-turn back up the street. 

"Where we goin' anyway?" Leslie asked. 

"Just to the airport."