One early morning, after the bars had closed, we got an urgent call from The Roach--Royal--Castle that a fight was in progress in their elegant establishment. I arrived and entered to find a fellow down on top of Mr. Geek Splatt, a local thug, stool pigeon, and barfbag. He was applying a heavy fist quite forcefully to Mr. Splatt’s head.
I attempted to break them up, which I think Splatt would have been thankful for at that point. But, the combatant with the upper hand, or should I say fist, would not cease his rapid application of said fist.
We hadn't been carrying “Mace” on our belts long at that time but I quickly thought of it and did thereupon retrieve the canister from its new shiny holster and applied a healthy spray to the faces of both combatants. They immediately became disinterested in the manly arts, disengaged from each other, and began rubbing their eyes and crying like infants in need of a good burping.
This, however, was just the beginning. It was a rather warm and humid pre-dawn and the air conditioning system was trying hard to cool the building full of an after hours breakfast crowd. Too many bodies, too much air circulation, and a tad too much “Mace” precipitated a chaotic exodus. Even the hired help--cook and waitresses--abandoned the joint.
I even had a few tears myself--some from the Mace and some from laughing at how effectively the chemical spray had fumigated The Roach Coach.
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