Charles

Charles Pt I

"God, I hate this fuckin' job," he thought to himself. "What time is it?" His eyes slide to the clock above the bar, then his face contorted with disappointment. "Shit. S'only midnight. Every other bar would be getting ready to wind down now. But, nah, not here. I ain't allowed to leave 'til sunrise."

His body shifted again in its stance. His back ached and his feet were sore. "I need a new fuckin' job." His eyes looked back and forth. Had he just said that out loud?

He leaned against the railing. The bartender, Robert, gave him a dirty look. Charles gave one right back that read, "Fuck off". Robert beckoned him over. Charles sighed and made his way over to the bar. "No one's gonna hop there if I'm gone for jus' a second. So fuck it."

"Look Bobby," He loved to call him Bobby. It pissed him off something fierce. "I know I don't got no ground to stand on, but I'm sick and tired of all this bullshit. Every night I just gotta stand here. And every night I watch as one of these fucks heads upstairs without so much as a nod. Yeah, sure. I get it sometimes, but for the most part s'like I'm just another piece of fuckin' furniture. 'Least you get a hello now and again."

Robert used the same lines he always did. This job is very important and vital, making Charles a very important retainer. If it weren't for Charles, secrets could be revealed or their boss and her friends put in harms way. The job..

"Blah blah blah." Charles usually stopped listening after the third excuse. His eyes scanned the club. "S'easy picking these fucks out of a crowd. And it ain't jus cause I can see it. S'cause as soon as you know what you're lookin' for, you can spot it. They walk funny, like they think they rule the world or some shit."

He realized Robert was still talking, so he nodded his head. "Yeah, I know all this, Bobby. You've said it hundred times before. Don't make it any differen', " He grinned and looked back over to make eye contact. "Hey, I think I finally found a nice place."

Robert laughed and asked if he'd actually do it this time. It was an inside joke between them. Charles told Robert once that he was going to run off and quit all this. Robert asked him where he thought he'd be safe from them. Charles insisted he'd be safe in Harlem because, "That crazy white bitch wouldn't follow me there."

But Charles knew he'd never leave. There was one reason he was stuck here. It was all about his next fix. The blood. Every four weeks, like clockwork. Sometimes more if he bitched enough to Julian. It was the only thing that made this life bearable. The only thing worth living for.

"A fuckin' junkie." He shook his head. Mouth watering, he returned to the foot of the stairs.