Visiting Charlie

On the intercom, the Bus Driver announced “Lewisham Way.” Zane got off the bus in New Cross and went in the opposite direction. Rain sprinkled. 

He passed a mural depicting birds soaring with buildings tumbling down. A crowd played street chess. Dressed like a douchebag, he kept his eyes down.

Four blocks later, he turned a corner up a street of small houses. He glanced over his shoulder at a black BMW passing, and the man driving didn’t look his way. 

Zane kept walking, his eyes on the cream house with the uncut lawn. He dashed across the yard, moving alongside the house, his head low. 

He peeked through a window. At the back of the house were a garden hose, tools, and a picnic table. He tried to slide the window open and instead hurled a big rock and ducked. Glass flew. 

He heard no alarm and climbed inside.

Lavender walls. Poster art of Hendrix and Prince next to a 65” flat screen. An electric guitar stood in the corner. 

His face hardened at the designer clothes in the closet. 

On the bedside table was a picture of a man smiling between two busty women in low tops. 

He checked if anyone was in the kitchen and the living room. It was spare with no luxuries, and he saw no one. 

He removed his clothes from the bathroom. In the mirror were blood patches on his chest and shoulders. He pulled out the glass in one patch and bit his lip. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled another.

And another. 

In the shower, he let the hot water beat him down. A puddle of blood covered his feet.

After drying himself, he combed his hair and put on a white dress shirt and a dark designer suit. He searched the bedside drawer and found condoms, jelly, and mints. 

In the second drawer, Zane found cash and a passport. He opened the passport to a photo of a man with blonde hair. He verified the date. He slipped the passport with the cash in his suit pocket.

In the kitchen, Zane opened the fridge, and a lock turned. He shut the fridge and spun into the closet. 

He huddled under hanging jackets. 

A man yawned with a brown bag in his hand. 

Zane kept the door ajar, pressing the latch on a grey case. His face hardened, seeing the man sitting at the table.

The man shivered. He took the box from the brown bag and opened the lid. 

“Apologies for the chill,” Zane said, stepping behind him. “Needed a way in. Didn’t want to turn up the heat. Wasn’t sure how you were on your bills.”

The man coughed hard. A little too hard.

“My bad, Charlie. Weren’t expecting me?”

Zane grabbed a glass off the counter and filled it with water. “Good thing you don’t play sports since choking comes naturally.”

Charlie drank the water. “Your sentence—”

Zane pulled out a chair, taking a seat. “I know how long it was.”

Charlie put the glass on the table.

“You must be wondering how right? Did I escape? Was I unjustly convicted? Was I a good samaritan and sent home?”

Charlie avoided his eyes.

“The truth? Want to know it?” Zane asked, staring right at him. “Good behavior and a rare skill set do wonders. Wonders for your self-esteem, your living situation, even your lifelong friendships. One might argue I’m a new man, got this new vibe, got too much going for me to even risk sitting at this table.”

Charlie looked at his food, touching his throat.

“You mind?”

Charlie shook his head. Zane took the fork from Charlie’s hand and ate the eggs.

“I like masala on mine. Know what masala is?” 

Charlie’s shoulders went tight.

“Red and powdery. A little sprinkle is all you need to get that kick. Have any?”

Charlie shook his head. “No.”

“You should get some.”

Charlie offered a pained stare.

“Bloody bland, mate.”

“I-I will buy some.”

“Do. Won’t taste like hairless balls then.”

Charlie looked up.

“Not that I’ve tasted any. You?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think you had,” Zane said, twirling the fork. “Any jobs since?” 

“No.”

“No jobs, yeah?”

“None.”

“What do you do for money then?”

“Bartend uptown at Willy’s.”

“Bartending buys Armani suits?” Zane gestured to the suit he wore.

“It’s an Alfani.”

“An Alfani? No.” 

“Yeah, it is.”

Zane turned the inside of his jacket and read the label. “Look at that. Corporate chaps stealing before our very eyes. Bet my generic ass still flies though, eh?”

“Looks good.”

“How much?”

“Huh?”

“How much does an Alfani run you?”

“Got it abroad at Macy’s. Had racks and racks of suits eighty percent off. Bought a few.”

“A biz can’t make profit at eighty percent. Eighty percent and a biz would rather have you steal it and write off the loss, Charlie.”

“It’s the real deal. Fifty with an additional thirty at the register. I should’ve saved the sticker on my tag.”

“Not that I’m an instructor for the Khan Academy, but if I’m doing the math it’s sixty-five percent, not eighty,” Zane said.

“How do you get that?”

“How do I get what?”

“Fifty plus thirty is eighty. I’ll show you on my cell.” 

Zane gave him a grim look.

Charlie took offense. “What? You don’t believe me.”

“Hey you got a calculator and I don’t,” Zane said. “I only got my little brain and how can it know the difference between fifty off the regular price plus thirty or fifty with an additional thirty off the new sales price. I can’t argue with a calculator, especially a calculator on a smartphone. A smartphone so smart it can add two numbers. So it is. A thief like me doesn’t need math to know my generic ass can fly, right? I’m wearing an Alfani.”

Zane slapped the table and erupted in laughter. “I’m wearing an Alfani.”

Charlie leaned back, on edge.

“Talk about looking good, look at you,” Zane said, no longer laughing. “I serve one-hundred and eighty-three days. Here you are turning mum’s crib into a bachelor pad that’s got you coming home in Alfanis and swimming in ginormous titties. Even fooling these honeys with the guitar. They think you can play?”

Charlie beamed. 

“Yeah?”

“They do.”

“Really.”

“I can play,” Charlie said, raising his chin. “I’ve been taking lessons.”

“Why?”

“Uh, so I can get better. Isn’t that why people take lessons?”

“But you suck.”

Charlie’s face soured.

“Prince, may the purple brother rest well in the heavens, would take his picture off your wall if he heard you play.”

“You heard me when I first started.”

“Boy did I.”

“You didn’t know Prince either.”

“I’m sorry, did you?”

Charlie minutely shakes his head.

“You’re just as famous as I am,” Zane said. “What I’m saying is this. I’m saying if the purple brother heard you play, if he heard the sounds you make with the guitar, then the purple brother would get angry and take his picture down.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because he’s dead.”

“Whoa. Why so literal? You really underestimate how bad you suck.” 

Charlie’s face went red. “That’s your opinion.”

“I’m not waking up the dead with how I play.” 

“You should hear me now. I can play.”

“I’d rather not,” Zane said. “It was truly frightening hearing you play. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.”

Charlie’s face reddened.

“Aw, c’mon mate. Hurt you a little bit that I think you suck? Didn’t realize my opinion has real value to you.”

“No value. All good.”

“My opinion, right? My life, no. My life has no value to you. Isn’t that what you mean?”

Charlie got quiet.

“Yeah, mate. That’s what you mean. That’s what you really mean.”

“I don’t mean that,” Charlie said.

“Then explain it,” Zane said, leaning closer. “Explain what you mean. Explain the meaning of sending your best mate to the slammer and costing us 500K? In the world I live in, that’s called serious green. You live in that world? Or you live in a world of monks and nuns and street hippies where 500K is unnecessary?”

Charlie remained silent.

“Which world do you live in?”

“Aye, you know they had me. It was me or you.”

“The honeys had nothing to do with it?”

“Chicks talk,” Charlie shrugged. “They talk.”

“And this is some new discovery?”

“It was me or you.”

“Or neither,” Zane said. “We always get a third choice, but let’s not blow our minds here.”

“The third choice is the same as the first choice.”

“Oh now you’re blowing my mind,” Zane said.

“My mum was sick, kind of a rough time.”

“We both know your mum died before we did the job.”

“She made me think. Think about living the right way.”

“You messing with Ishani?”

“What? No. Never.”

“She didn’t at least call you and curse you out when I got sent?”

“I haven’t spoken to her since we all went for drinks after your wedding.”

“She says living the right way just like you say it. Makes me lose my mind when a maid says it and now I have to hear it from a bartender?”

“I didn’t have a choice. They threatened me.”

“You’re making me go Brando.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me go Brando.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You gave me up, Charlie. That’s what you did. You gave up your lifelong mate, for what? What did I ever do to you? You were my friend. I always brought you in on my hustles, Charlie.”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t? I think you do.”

“I think I don’t.”

“I think you know why.”

“Maybe I…”

“Maybe you what?”

“Maybe I folded under pressure,” Charlie said. 

Zane chuckled. “Folded is a bloody polite way of saying you offered some jelly from your drawer, bent over, and took it cleanly in the bum.”

“You want me to rob the bar? Get you some easy.”

“Think I’m emotionally complete if you get me some easy?” 

“I don’t know. It’d be easy.”

“Would it be easy to get me some easy?” Zane asked, rising.

“Easy 20-25K.”

“Can you?”

“I can. I can get you twenty, twenty-five K just like that. It’d be easy.” 

“Easy getting easy. Okay.”

“Yeah?” Charlie’s voice grew louder, excited to be out of the woods.

“First let’s focus on what I want.” 

“You want more?”

“Yes.”

“What’s that?”

“A saw. You got one?”

“A what?”

“A saw.”

Charlie turned with a slack expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“This is why you’re a bartender around the corner and not wearing an orange apron at Home Depot.”

“C’mon man, I know what a saw is. There’s one out back. I was thinking why. Why a saw?”

Zane pulled behind Charlie’s ear. “So you can cut off your leg, mate. The left one. Use the tip of your stiffy as a guide from where to start. If you got a stiffy that hangs down to your knees, well, sorry you chose the wrong profession but consider it a blessing now ’cause you get half-a-leg to play with.”

Charlie eats a lump.

“You sound like you’re all in.”

“I want to walk.”

“Hop, then. You can hop on one leg.”

“I want to walk with both.”

“Not asking for reparations,” Zane said. “Not asking to bunk together at Her Majesty’s prison. Not even asking for a sincere heartfelt apology from my best mate. Only asking for a leg.”

“A leg?”

“A leg.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“I’m not going to nibble it on like chicken if that’s got you all bent up.”

“Then what?”

“I got big plans.”

“Big plans?

“Big with dreams.”

“Like what?”

“Going to take it to a shop and frame it. In glass.”

“And hang it up?”

“Like bloody art,” Zane said. “Going to call it: The Leg.”

“Naw.”

“Naw?”

“Hell naw.”

“I can’t think of a better apology for what you did, mate.”

“C’mon, be serious. Naw.”

“I’m being serious.”

“That’s just bloody crazy mate!”

“Don’t get dramatic,” Zane said, his hand sliding inside his suit jacket. “But I could see how you’d think that’s unreasonable. It’s your leg.”

“You think? Jesus mate.”

A hand slapped over Charlie’s mouth, and his head went back. 

“This more reasonable?” 

Zane jammed the screwdriver into Charlie’s neck, between the bones.

He felt inside Charlie’s pockets and took his cell and wallet.

He looked at Charlie's head flopped onto the plate with blood squirted on the eggs.

He said, "Well, that was dramatic."