Zugzwang

Chapter Two

How would she come up with an easily digestible story to explain her whereabouts?

Perhaps a small jump back of 6 years would help set the story. Back to where it all began.

2014, an old and mostly forgotten nightclub in the rather unremarkable small town of Sopenfield. The owners of the humorously named 'Tipsy Cow' had once been flushed with cash thanks to the gaggles of young adults finishing their long working weeks in town and getting all dolled up for a night out on the prowl, in the only club for a good 45 minute radius. The queues for both entry and the ladies toilets, had only made the dark thumping spot all the more desirable for those needing to let off steam and get into some trouble before day broke and the hangovers kicked in. The clubs owner, Gary 'the cow' Moors relished in his local fame, and would do anything to keep the money faucet pouring, including and in no way limited to the sale of fairly sketchy, but definitely illegal blow. So much so, that practically each cubicle had a man waiting to sell you as much as you could handle. Each bump of the highly sort after flake would, of course, send money directly into the pockets of Mr. Moor, who despite his love of money and most things frowned upon by well educated human beings, was never a smart man. He was business smart. He could lower the price of every bottle bought to fuel his locals, with one phone call. Moor had also bribed his way out of paying rent a handful of times when the money in town ran low and his bar had stayed painfully well stocked.

Eventually buying the place with his money saved, not once had the well suited and booted club owner, thought to pay off even a single bobbie stamping up and down Sopen high street.

Eventually, all it had taken was a copper with something to prove to any higher up that would give him 5 minutes of their time. PC Perfect practically got a hard on after dobbing in the entire unsavoury population of the Tipsy Cow's employees, Gary Moor at the top of that list. So there the tipsy cow stood, the punters long gone and long grown too old, their bodies too tired to throw back a couple of tequila shots and attempt to take someone home to warm the empty sides of their beds.

Unluckily for him, Gary's son, predictably named Gary Junior by his ever so humble and never egocentric father, had inherited the family business once his father had been hauled off to his new iron gated home. Even more against his favour was his fathers heart attack of 2012 which took 'The Cow' off to some hellish pasture for the rest of eternity. Gary Jr had let the club fall into a state of abandon, with the doors still open near enough 7 days a week to bring in as much or frequently as little money as he could. Not only had the punters aged out of the nightlife scene, but not many of their offspring had chosen to stick around long enough to enjoy the dated decor and over priced drinks. Mostly due to the lack of employment opportunities in the area, but Sopenfield itself had this dark pulling force that felt as if once you let it take you, you'd be stuck in the purgatory of the town for the rest of your numbered days. Every young boy and girl in the area longed for the 18 birthday candles it would take to earn your way out of this town.

No such luck yet for Shana Lambert. Her last birthday had only given the smoke of 16 flames. Shana was entirely similar to the others in her class, Lucy, Charlotte, Benjamin, Christine and William, being the ones she had chosen to integrate with that year. Luckily for her , the current state of the only club in town, meant that both management and the tubby bouncers were lax enough to rarely check identification. So long, that is, that you had on a short enough skirt, a cleavage and a decent amount of money to burn.

So that is where she stood, not cuddled up at Charlotte's house for a sleepover as she had promised her parents all week, but hidden down the closest alleyway to the Tipsy Cow. Shivering and waiting for her boyfriend Ben to flash enough cash at the door to guarantee the six of them a night of dancing and drinking without the eyes of parents or judging older siblings. With a nod from the noticeably tipsy bouncer, Shana pressed her dress flat against her body, making sure to flash enough thigh and a little wave to the very off putting man on the door on her way in. She was closely followed by her friends, whom were already on a high from simply setting foot in the door of the club. This was the fourth time since turning 16 that she had pulled off such an entrance, always with the financial help from Ben, who was 2 years older and still found reason to hang out with her younger group of friends. A red flag to most, but to Shana, she loved the idea of him and his attention and intentions. They walked towards the bar, hand in hand and ordered 5 beers and a glass of red wine, along with 6 firebombs. Her arms folded, she leaned on the bar top, continuously pealing them off of the sticky, glazed wood which rarely saw a rag and water let alone a soap bubble. The floor felt soft under her silver over worn heels and her eyes fell down to observe her own body, making sure she would be tempting enough to serve in the eyes of the eyebrow studded 30-year old bartender. He barely bat her an eyelid as he took the cash first and poured all the drinks second.