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The Boogie District, Andersswhal
April 1975
Pulsating strobe lights shine into the dilated eyes of clubgoers as they dance with varying degrees of competence. A heavy disco ball rotates at the center of the dance floor, briefly illuminating the snaky figures loitering against the dark walls of the discotheque. The multicolored lights of the dancefloor flash in alternating patterns, calling perhaps too much attention to the gaudy menagerie of fashion styles. A fast paced euro-disco mix slowly fades out and is replaced by ABBA's "Ring Ring."

On the second floor, a two men sit on a outdoor terrace overlooking the busy streets of the Upper Point. One man, dressed in white flared trousers and a bright red paisley pattern dress shirt, extinguishes a cigarette in an overflowing ash tray. He adjusts his burgundy colored sunglasses, then sweeps back his neatly cut hair and clears his throat to break the silence.

"They've finally got some good music in there, I'm thinking about heading back." the man in the sunglasses says, pointing back towards the booming sound inside the club.

"We can afford to miss the message, its almost time." the other man replies, looking down at his watch. He's dressed in all denim, bellbottom jeans over bright white cowboy boots and an opened jean jacket, partially revealing his hairy chest and several golden medallions. A messy shag of hair droops down almost to his shoulders and he sports a thick Mexican moustache.

"Come on, man. I was chatting up this absolute vision before you dragged me out here." the man in the sunglasses laments, itching to get out of his chair. "She had on this gorgeous set of go-go boots man! And this pair of hot pants that were so tight you could almost..."

"There it is" the mustachioed man interrupts, pointing to a flashing light in the window of a nightclub across the street. He reaches for a small radio beside his chair and flips it on and begins quickly reporting into it "We've got confirmation, second floor of Klub Central, across the street from Culture Box. Send the boys in and we'll be right behind them."

The two men erupt from their chairs and run back into the club, making a mad dash for the exit. The man in the sunglasses stops briefly to scrawl his number on a napkin and hands it to a tall woman dancing by herself. He'll learn later that he had left several digits missing in his rush.

Bursting from the doors, the two men begin running across the busy intersection between the two clubs. Cars honk and screech to a halt as they watch the men sprint in front of their headlights, the two men flash police badges at the windshields to placate the irritated drivers. More police officers, dressed in the green uniform of the Andresswhal City Militia, quickly join the two men. They emerge from alleyways, closed storefronts, and parked cars around the intersection, armed with pistols and submachine guns. A helicopter swoops in and casts its searchlight on the roof of Klub Central, revealing a group of officers securing the roof of the club.

Police vans pull up the the entrance and disgorge more uniformed police officers. A shot rings out from above and the sea of officers begin rushing for cover.

"Watch the windows!" the mustachioed man yells, removing a holstered pistol from his jacket and running behind a parked car.

"You four, come with me! After we make it in, start coming in groups of four!" shouts the man in the sunglasses from behind a phonebooth. He makes a dash for the entrance, followed closely by four armed officers.

Streams of screaming clubgoers flow out from the doors as the officers try to wade through them.

Upon entering the empty club the man in the sunglasses notices that the music was still playing, the lack of bodies to diffuse the noise making it blast with almost double the intensity. A set of soft purple and blue stage lights are the only source of light save for the bright, but brief, illumination of a moving spotlight.

The man in the sunglasses, flanked by the officers, moves slowly across the dancefloor, scanning the dimly lit surroundings. Behind him he can hear four more officers enter the club.

Suddenly, a figure hops out from behind a bar counter and begins firing at the man in the sunglasses. Jumping out of the way of the figure's bullets, he responds with two well placed shots from his pistol, landing both of them on the figure's chest and sending him crashing into a wall of drinks.

Several other figures then emerge from doorways and beneath tables, unleashing a maelstrom of gunfire on the officers. Two of the officers that came with the man in sunglasses are hit, the other two duck for cover.

"What now sir?" calls out one of the officers from behind a chair.

"I don't know, but I'll figure it out." the man in the sunglasses answers over the sound of gunfire.

6 hours later

Groups of police officers carry out corpses and massive duffle bags from the entrance of the club. A police cordon had been set up around the intersection outside and news vans sat parked around the perimeter.

The man in the sunglasses sat on the curb rubbing his bandaged shoulder. His shirt was torn and his white trousers were drenched with blood on his left leg.

The mustachioed man comes and beside him "The news wants to talk to you. They want to get the official line from the grove troop that led the most successful drug raid in ACP history" he says.

"They were spies Peter. I'd be surprised if the coroner finds any ID on any of them" the man in the sunglasses replies.

"None of them got taken in? I could have sworn..."

"No. They're all dead, the ones that didn't get shot by our guys killed themselves. They had these capsules in their..." here the man in the sunglasses gestures to his jawline.

"Who do you think it was, the Americans?"

"Probably. Most of the other countries on the continent have made peace with a socialist country at the doorstep. But they could never abide by it. Even from an ocean away it bothers them." the man in the sunglasses points to a group of police officers loading duffle bags into a van "I'm guessing they were planning on flooding the streets with more of that sh*t, getting us hooked and then swooping in and snatching the country from under our addicted noses."

"Sounds a bit farfetched if you ask me. I can imagine that kind of thing happening somewhere in South America or in Eastern Europe, but here? Wouldn't they be worried about it spreading into the rest of their allied countries."

The man in the sunglasses rubs his shoulder, brushing over what his colleague just said. "Can you get those reporters off my back?"

"Sure, whatever man. I'll just drop the usual take, club promoter we were looking at for a while got tied up with local gangs and was was busted after a tip from one of our informants."

"They were using MP-5s and assault rifles..."

"Organized crime then?"

"That makes more sense."

Leaning forward, the man in the sunglasses and the mustachioed man look across the street at the club they had started the night in.

"Lets see that smug prick Bauer try and top this." the mustachioed man boasts.

All officer's, we've got a murder reported near the docks in the meatpacking district. Any available officers please respond. Over came the voice of the police dispatch from a near by radio.

The mustachioed man and the man in the sunglasses barely noticed the call.

This is Fritz, uh officer Bauer. I'm right around there, I can take that one. Over.

It was almost dawn now and the lights in the brothels and clubs began to turn out. Neil Diamond's "Cracklin' Rosie" could be heard playing from the raided club. The Boogie District was finally going to bed.

"Ring Ring" by ABBA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TL0EoXdpOqg

"Cracklin' Rosie" by Neil Diamond
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lXrcuv3G_7A