I decide to go in the back room and try and write for a little while. If I go home I’ll just end up falling asleep on the couch watching something horrible. The words in my head have congealed into one big blob of nonsense. I wonder if Addy has somehow gotten into my head with her lyric hating ways. After I play a few notes on the guitar some sentences start to form about a high school beauty wanting to grow up too fast. It doesn’t sound terrible in my head.
“Charlie, are you here.” A voice outside the room startles me and I jump upholding the guitar like a weapon above my head.
My friend from high school George Starling is standing in the doorway. He looks tired with large bags beneath his eyes. His green t-shirt is wrinkled and the jeans he’s wearing have large holes in the thighs. They are dirty and his hair is in a huge mess on top of his head.
“You’ve been on a bender,” I say as my heart starts to calm down.
“Just a little one,” he says holding his two fingers close together.
George has an addiction to cocaine.
He fends for it in a way that never got me. I would use and be fine, but the second he found it he was hooked. I’d been distancing myself from him bit by bit. I didn’t want to leave a friend in trouble, but there was really no way to help someone who didn’t want to help himself. I still had the coke I’d bought from him for Savannah in my apartment. We hadn’t spoken for two months before that.
“I’ve got a problem, Charlie, I need your help.”
There is usually only one thing Charlie needs from me, it’s money. When someone has an addiction and no steady job, they get in over their head a lot. Charlie is no exception. I’ve never been able to tell him no. I feel like he’s a victim of his circumstances. I moved on to money by a chance inheritance and he remained poor in our old neighborhood.
“Who do you owe money to now, George?”
“Corky, and it’s a lot.” He looks at the ground as he tells me. Corky is a big deal in the drug community and not someone you want to screw over. There was no doubt in my mind if he didn’t get the money he’d hurt George. Knowing my sometimes really stupid friend, he probably told him I’d pay him no problem before he made the trip to my studio.
“Alright, we need to go see Corky. Where’s your car?” I ask as we walk out the front door. No point in locking up. I make a mental note to call someone to replace the glass in the morning.
“I thought we could take yours.” He smiles wearily.
“No, I’m not driving my car through South Side. It will stick out like a sore thumb.” The place we grew up is not known for Lexus SUVs, it’s known for hoopties. “Where is your car, George?”
“It’s at Corky’s. They kept it for collateral. I told them I’d come get you, but it took an hour and a half because I had to walk. Lucky you’re here.”
“Why would you tell him I was going to pay? How much?”
My level of frustration with my friend is rising. He’s done this before and I simply gave him the money, but this time he seems fearful. I know Corky and hopefully, I can defuse the situation before he gets in any deeper.
“Twelve hundred.” He winces as if the admission is painful to him. “He has to have it by tonight Charlie.”
“We’ll take an Uber and I’ll go to the ATM. This is the last time though, you understand me. You’re going to rehab.”
“I will, man. I promise. Get me out of this and I’ll go.”
I have to use more than one card to get all the money out of the ATM and go ahead and get extra to pay the Uber and give George some money to gas up his car. I am proud that I’ve been able to make my own money over the years working for a friend’s construction business. It allows me to take money out without my dad checking up on me. The accounts he’s over are for paying the studio fees and for my apartment.
Once I have the money and we’re on our way I feel a bit of anticipation. It’s been a while since I dealt with Corky. I don’t know how many people he has working for him now and he can be a little hot-headed.
“Rich boy,” he sneers when I walk through the door. I immediately wish I was armed. There are four guys sitting in the back room of Haley’s Bar. The owner is Corky’s aunt and turns a blind eye to his dealings because she gets a kickback.
I know all of this because, before the money, I was one of the people who worked for Corky. He was small time then, a little weed and loan sharking. Now he’s moved onto cocaine and bigger fish, so to speak.
“What’s going on Corky, boys,” I nod at the men standing around him hoping nothing crazy happens. The guy standing closest to the wall pushes back his jacket and I see a gun tucked in his waistband.
“You’ve got to get control of your boy, Charlie. He’s been very, very bad.”
Corky, whose real name is Tuner Conrad, sits behind a table covered in cards and coke. He wears a lot of jewelry these days and I notice some gold crowns when he smiles. It’s a completely different picture of him than I remember.
“He owes you money, I brought it. We’ll get squared and then I’m going to get him cleaned up.” I say and slap George on the back.
“You brought five thousand dollars in cash?”
“He said he owed you twelve hundred.” The little man marching back and forth in my stomach starts taking higher steps. George could have lied, but why would he put me in such a shitty situation?”