Vodka and the stolen Glockenspiel

The man across the table looked straight into my eyes, a hint of a smile flickered across his face. I nervously a glanced around, but saw nothing out of place. Id heard this guy was as predictable as¦well, as a very unpredictable thing, but then again my source is as reliable as a candle in the wind, so this may get messy regardless.
"I aint got no glockenspiel, Davis he grunted. I sighed and looked over my shoulders. He was definitely alone.
"Look, I'm gona square with you¦ I said "...we have photographic evidence that you took the thing, goddammit and with that, I threw down the photos from my coat, in one swift movement, just like I'd practised. My god I'm cool. He picked them up and surveyed them carefully, his emotionless grey eyes scanning every last pixel.
"That aint me he said, standing up. I peered up at this gigantic man; he must have been six foot five at least. I hit the call button on my concealed phone, starting to panic for the first time.
"How is that not you! I shouted, destroying my cool, calm veneer instantly. Before he could respond a crashing sound erupted form behind me. It was Goldberg, who having gotten my distress call had ran into the bar - withdrawing his gun ' and had hit an unsuspecting barmaid, causing him to be propelled into the air (the barmaid was not exactly what you'd call slim, god bless her) and as he landed (bounced) into a barstool, his gun flew skywards before inconveniently landing practically in the huge mans hand. I should say at this point that Goldberg is my partner.
"Don't move! cried the fool as he struggled to stand up, somehow having managed to get his coat stuck over his head during the aforementioned incident. Still in my chair, I turned to face the huge man as he aimed the gun directly at my face, a cool metallic smell mixing with the mans foul odour flooded my nose, in the same way as panic flooded by brain, and adrenaline flooded my blood¦or muscles, or both, I was never that good at science, and I'm quite forgetful in general, but anyway, back to the story.
"What you gona do now, Davis mocked my captor with a hearty laugh, I didn't know what to say, so I just sat there and waited to see how this scene would progress.
"Vodka! shouted Goldberg...ok I should point out here that my Christian name is Vodka, yeah I know that's odd, but my mother was a drunkard and my father was Russian, and they both had slightly unusual senses of humour and so here I am, stuck with a stupid name and school memories I'd rather forget. Anyway¦I looked over to my feeble partner just in time to see the hefty barmaid running at him, face like thunder, but she slipped before she could get there and skidded into him feet first, slamming a heel into Goldberg's crotch (I winced as I saw that) before she started hitting him with a packet of cheese and onion crisps, which of course exploded everywhere. I saw the huge man observing this, and while he was distracted removed a pen from my inside coat pocket.
"Take this! I screamed wildly as I stabbed my pen through the blizzard of crisps and into the massive hand of the massive man. He lost his grip of the gun. It flew into the back of the rabid barmaids head knocking her unconscious. "The gun Danny, the gun! I yelled (Danny is Goldberg's first name, by the way)
"What? he said, as he tried to move the stocky barmaid off his frame.
"The gun, get the gun! I would have said more but a large pair of hands gripped my neck and began to jerk me around like I was a large resistant gear stick of some kind. This went on for a few seconds, I not sure of how many, but I began to fade away into the realms of unconsciousness when a loud bang was heard, and I hit the ground with a thud.
I felt a hand slap my cheek.
"wah? I mumbled
"Wake up, Davis Goldberg whispered "I shot the giant in the leg, he isn't moving, what should we do? he looked unsure. So was I.
"Is he trying to escape, is he conscious?
"Yeah, but he is stuck under the table Danny was keeping both eyes anxiously on the gigantic fiend.
"Ok I said, getting to my feet "we'll put the barmaid on him, then let's see him run and that's exactly what we did. I went out side for some air. I could hear Goldberg ask the man about the stolen glockenspiel as I light up a cigarette. I know there bad, but we all gotta die of something. Anyway, it turns out the instrument was at his apartment, and that he intended to sell it to collectors, but thanks to us that will never happen (by the way, in case you were wondering, the glockenspiel was made of solid gold, and may or may not have once belonged to Beethoven himself).
As me and Goldberg walk to the car I think if this were a movie there'd be some hard rock playing as I walk in slow motion until the screen fades to black and the credits roll. Another case solved, more lives saved and a feeling of satisfaction that'll kick you ass form right over here to right over there. Yes, my name is Vodka Davis, private investigator/crime fighter/postal worker (at weekends) and if you mess with me, you're in big trouble.