The Provider - Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Jim had a hard time keeping his mind on his work. He had hidden his feelings of rage over someone harming his son. What he wanted to do was find the boy and tear him apart, then find his father and tear him apart. There was no way to keep the world from harming his son, but he could rage against it for trying. He felt himself obsessing over the fact that his feelings in no way would come to direct action. He remembered what it was like to be a boy and get into fights. Having his father come to his rescue would only make matters worse. When the chips were down he really didn’t know what to do. He would have to play things by ear and try to keep his temper under control. There was no easier way to rile a man than to attack his son. His mind churned on the day’s events as he went about his work. He was more brusque with the customers than usual. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist in general and tonight found him almost completely non-verbal. Even the regular clicking of the bored cover charge girl’s fingers on the door ledge didn’t bother him. After a time he felt his anger meld into a period of self-loathing so intolerable he cursed out loud.
“Got a problem with something?” The cover charge girl asked.
“No,” Jim said. She sighed and continued her endless finger drumming. Jim felt his stomach knot with inner rage. Rage he turned upon himself. He couldn’t keep his son safe if he wanted too. He didn’t even have what it took to keep the boy’s mother around. His wife left because he was no good. That he didn’t make enough money and couldn’t find a stable job were her main reasons. Jim thought her absence was mostly due to the disparity of the life she thought she should have and the one she actually ended up with. Successful business women ended up with successful men, not men like Jim. Even during their brightest days Jim would be lying if inside he didn’t feel this would happen. He was so very much in love with her. Since their relationship began Jim always had a fear that she would see him for what he really was. A loser. He knew that if the rose colored glasses were removed she would come to her senses and leave him. In the end he was right. Self-fulfilling prophecy. God only knows how deep the scars on his child were because of the absence of his mother. Jim remembered the nights and tears in the early days of her departure. Daniel blamed himself. Jim told the boy it was her choice to leave, that it didn’t have anything to do with him. But how could you know if he believed him? Jim looked at his watch and cursed aloud again. He still had a long night ahead of him. Looking down the club hallway he shook his head. Why did the economy have to go bad? There weren’t any good jobs available. Because he couldn’t land a day job he had to leave his son alone in the house all night long. What if something happened to him? Jim would have to carry that blame too. Some protector. Some provider. Some fucking father. Jim clenched his hands into fists. His inner disquiet boiled over into another curse.
“Do you have fucking Tourettes or something? What’s your fucking problem?” The cover charge girl leaned back as Jim turned his face to her with red vengeance in his eyes.
“I’m just having a bad night. Okay?” Jim said.
“Yeah, it’s okay.” She stayed still as Jim turned back around.
“Oh and you may want to skim a little less out of the till. The owner is getting suspicious,” Jim said.
“What are you talking about? I would never…” She mocked incredulous. Jim cut her off.
“Just don’t okay. Just don’t.”

Later in the evening the crowd in the club was picking up steam. Jim heard the alarm on his radio go off. One of the floor bouncers was at the door in an instant to take his place.
“Where is the problem?” Jim asked.
“Men’s bathroom,” The bouncer replied. “You better hurry.”
Jim worked his way through the club as quickly as possible. He turned sideways and pushed his way through the crowds, finally making it to the bathroom a couple moments later. He met the VIP backdoor bouncer on the way.
“What’s going on?” Jim asked.
“Some girls were taking shit about the long line to get in the bathroom. I told them there’s never a line for the men’s,” The bouncer smirked.
“They went in the men’s bathroom?” Jim sighed.
“Yeah. They’ve been in there awhile so I beeped you.” Jim went in the men’s bathroom. The girls couldn’t have been older than twenty five. They were sitting on the sink ledge, surrounded by six guys. The girls were laughing but you couldn’t mistake the nervous looks in their eyes.
“You can use the bathroom if you show us your tits.” The guys laughed and leaned against each other making a wall. The girls shook their heads and plastered crooked smiles on their faces, masking fear.
“Guys,” Jim said. Their heads turned. “Let the girls out of the bathroom. Come on.”
“Just a second man,” Their faces turned sour. “We’ve got something going on here.”
“Come on ladies.” Jim held out his hand and one of the girls gratefully took it. Jim pulled them through the yielding phalanx and to the other side. One of the guys slapped a girl on the backside as she passed. She yelped in surprise and pain. The guys laughed.
“Do you want to press charges?” Jim asked the girl. The guys laughed louder. The girl shook her head. “Bad things happen to girls in men’s bathrooms,” Jim said. “Don’t do this again.” They left.
Jim turned to the guys. “Is everything okay in here?”
“Are you a fucking faggot or something? You don’t like tits?” They laughed.
“I don’t like club patrons being sexually assaulted in the bathroom. It’s bad press,” Jim said. He stepped close to the guy would first mouthed off to him.
“Okay. Sorry, Okay? Now what?” The guy backed down.
“Now you guys wash your hands go back out to the club and have a good time,” Jim said. He turned to leave. He could hear them laughing as he walked out. He went over to the VIP bouncer. He was intently focused on a couple blonds dancing on the club floor.
“Watching women isn’t a part of your job. You need to keep you head on a swivel at all times,” Jim said.
“Whatever. How did the bathroom thing work out?” The bouncer did not take his eyes off the dance floor.

“Just fine. We got pretty lucky this time.”
“You get too uptight.” The bouncer picked his nose and flicked what he found into a dark corner.
“You’re damn right I do,” Jim said. The other bouncer shook his head.
“What is your problem?”
“I need this job,” Jim took a step closer to the bouncer.
“Sorry man,” The bouncer said. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.” Jim clenched his jaw. His head throbbed at the temples. He snapped. Jim grabbed the other bouncer by the shirt and slammed him up against the wall.
“You tell another dumb girl to go into the guy’s bathroom and I will beat the shit out of you. You will get her beaten, raped and left for dead. Is that something you want?” Jim could felt saliva spew from his words and land on the bouncer’s face. The bouncer winced and tried to push Jim off.
“No man. Shit, let go of me.”
“I need this fucking job.” Jim tightened his grip.
“I get you. I get you.” The bouncer said. Jim shoved him backward against the wall. The bouncer pulled his shirt back into place and looked at Jim with red venom.
“I have more riding on this work than you can ever imagine,” Jim raged. “I don’t need some back door asshole with shit for brains who can’t keep his eyes off the whores on the dance floor fucking this up for me. You keep your eyes moving. You keep the customers safe and do your job.”
“Okay. I fucked up. Sorry. Shit.” The bouncer spat on the floor. Jim shook his head.
“I’m going back to the front.” Jim turned and walked back to his post.

The Provider - Chapter 9

Chapter - 9

Jim was cleaned up and ready by the time his son arrived home from school. He was about to light up his pipe when he heard his son enter the house crying. Jim ran to the front door and held his son which only escalated the boy’s sobbing. Jim broke off the hug and dropped to one knee and looked into Daniel’s tear streaked face.
“What happened?” Jim said. His son continued to whimper. He shook him a little and repeated louder. “Daniel, what happened?”
“I got beat up,” Daniel looked the picture of shame. He wiped his sleeve across his face, smearing mucus over his right cheek.
“Who did this to you?” Jim felt anger well up inside.
“Some kids from school.” Daniel dropped his backpack and Jim saw the urine stains on his pants. Jim’s fury drained instantly and he walked his son to the bathroom. He drew a bath and helped his son strip down. Both saying nothing. Daniel stepped into the bath and put his hands over his face. Jim splashed some water down his back from a pitcher and put a hand on his shoulder. His eyes searched his boy over for signs of abuse. After awhile he spoke.
“Are you hurt?” Jim asked.
“No,” Daniel’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Jim prodded.
“No,” Daniel kept his hands over his face. Jim didn’t know what to say to him. He didn’t know how to get him to open up. Daniel’s body shook with humiliation. He thought again of Daniel’s mother, his wife, she would know what to say. Jim felt a wave of anger at her for her absence but let it go. There was nothing to be done about it.
“It will be okay buddy,” Jim said. He scooped another pitcher of water and washed the day from his young son’s shoulders, the weight of which seemed heavy on his own. There was no protection from a hard world. Boys should stay small, Jim thought, the bigger they get the bigger come their problems.
“I’m nothing,” Daniel said.
“You’re not nothing. You’re my boy. I love you,” Jim said. Inside he felt like the pot calling the kettle black. One nothing trying to lift up another.
“I’m nothing and I want to die,” Daniel said softly. Jim felt his soul squeeze as if in a vice.
“You don’t mean that,” Jim said. “Don’t say that.”
“I want to die. I hate myself. I’m nothing.” Daniel began to cry. It was an unearthed sobbing that came slow and spent itself long and hollow.
“You’re my boy,” Jim said. “I love you.” Jim dropped the pitcher and hugged his son.
“I want to die. I want to die. I want to die.” Daniel let the litany rise and fall with the rocking of his body. Jim had never felt so powerless. “Fuck you mother,” Jim thought with deep hatred. “Fuck that bitch for leaving us. She’s the one that should die. Not my boy. Not my son.”
Jim rocked holding Daniel in the bathtub. One reeling in sorrow, one with anger. Neither thinking about the other. Lost in themselves and their own miseries.

The evening came quickly. “Do you want me to drive you to school tomorrow?” Jim asked. “I could also pick you up at the end of the day. Save your legs from all that walking.” Daniel shook his head.
“Is there anything I can do?” Jim asked. He felt a little helpless.
“No. I’m okay.” Daniel shut him out again.
“I have to go to work now,” Jim said. He looked at Daniel. He searched his face to see if the boy would be alright with him leaving tonight.
“I know.”
Jim stood up. “Don’t stay up too late.” Daniel nodded.
“Goodbye buddy.”
“Bye, Dad.” Jim left his son sitting at the table.
“Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll do them when I get home.”
“Okay,” Daniel said. With one last look, Jim walked out into the darkening sky.

The Provider - Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The morning found Jim in his car looking down at his worn shoes. Jolting his body into action, he dug into his pocket and brought out the rumpled twenties. He opened the window and dropped the bills onto the pavement. “I don’t need your fucking charity. You’re the loser.” He said with vehemence. Dignity slightly restored, Jim put the car into drive. His son would be waking up soon and would be hungry for breakfast.

Jim cleaned up in his bathroom. Looking at his face in the mirror revealed more of the same dark and grim countenance he had begun to regard as normal. He shaved off his wiry stubble, rinsed his hands and drew them wet through his peppered grey hair and brushed it into place. He ran the water ice cold and splashed it aggressively on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror. The face looking back at him was clean, clear and not unhandsome. Feeling like a new man, Jim went back into the kitchen and prepared breakfast. He cracked a couple extra eggs and laid our a few more strips of bacon than normal. Today he was going to eat breakfast with his boy. The sun was beginning to rise. The smell of crisping bacon wafted in the air. Jim put on a pot of coffee and lit up his pipe. Fragrant vanilla flavored smoke filled the air. As he turned the eggs in the skillet he smiled.

“Hi dad,” Daniel said. He looked at the spread on the table and moved into his chair.
“Hey buddy,” Jim said.
“Are we having company for breakfast or something?”
“Not unless you have one of your girlfriends in there,” Jim said. Daniel laughed and the father felt his heart surge with delight. How long has it been since he heard the boy laugh? He thought. Weeks. It had been weeks. He sat down across from his son and dug into his eggs. His son was eating too. Bacon first, then onto the eggs. He ate his food one section at a time. Nothing like his father who didn‘t care if his foods mixed. No, the boy was more like his mother this way. Thinking of her made his stomach knot and he lost his hunger. He shoved the pain deep and forced himself to take another bite of toast. This morning was going too well to allow his illogical crave of her presence to waste it.
“You’re hungry today,” Jim remarked, wrenching his thoughts back to his boy.
“Yeah. The food is good,” Daniel stared a moment into his plate. He stuttered and suddenly blurted out “I know you work all night and are probably really tired by now. You don’t have to cook me breakfast everyday. I could just eat a bowl of cereal or something.” Daniel’s eyes darted up and met his father’s for a moment, then looked back down.
“I like to cook for you,” Jim said.
“I know,” Daniel said. “I just don’t want to add any more pressure.” The boy trailed off and dropped his fork on his plate. His countenance darkened.
“The only pressure cooking eggs is that they might burn,” The father joked.
“I’m serious. You don’t have too!” Daniel said. Jim saw the earnestness on Daniel’s face. He couldn’t help himself, he was a bit giddy from being tired and he kept joking.
“But I’ve seen you cook. It’s downright scary,” Jim regretted it as soon as he said it. His jest seemed to sting Daniel.
“Listen to me!” Daniel yelled. “I know you work all night and look for work during the day. You don’t sleep. You don’t need to do this for me.”
“Okay. Sorry. Okay. Seriously, it’s not hard for me to make you breakfast,” Jim said. “I feel a little guilty having to leave you alone every night and it’s really one of the only times I get to see you. It’s for my benefit really. I just like spending the morning with you. Okay?”
Daniel sat sullen for a moment. “Okay,” He said and picked up his fork. They resumed in silence.

The Tagger

Mark looked down at the boy from the top of the club steps. Mark watched as he took out a spray can and tagged the club door. He was done in a matter of seconds. Just a couple flicks of the wrist and the hiss of aerosol. The boy turned to leave and saw Mark. Mark was over six feet tall and nearing 300 pounds. He filled the stairwell. The vandal looked up at him with a frightened expression. Mark placed the kid to be about sixteen years old. His time manning the door of the nightclub made him a wiz for guessing people’s ages. Most of the time he knew he was about to be handed a fake ID before a customer reached for his wallet.
“Go inside,” Mark said. The boy hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and went into the basement nightclub. Mark followed a few steps behind. The club lights were on. It was nearly four in the morning. Bar backs were refilling stock. Waitresses were cleaning off tables or counting tips at the bar. Bartenders were reconciling the registers.
“Go over there,” Mark said to the boy. He gestured to a group of men all in black. The club bouncers had already finished their duties and were hanging out in the raised VIP area, drinking beer and laughing. The boy meekly walked over. Mark was a few steps behind.
“What have we got here?” Stan asked. He was the club owner. He was over-skinny and pale. His thick black hair was plastered to the back of his head with gel. Mark saw the gleam in his eyes. Stan liked his Martini’s and by Mark’s estimation, he’d had more than his fair share.
“The tagger,” Mark said.
“What?” Stan asked.
“This is the kid who’s been vandalizing the door,” Mark said.
“That’s him?” Stan pushed back from the table. “That fuck! I’m going to kill him.” Mark and the club bouncers stood up and surrounded the boy, who had been meekly studying his feet. Mark went over to the bar. The bartender stopped counting his register and handed Mark a beer. Mark reached for his wallet, but the bartender shook his head and went back to counting the register. Mark took a long pull from the bottle.
“You’re the asshole who thinks he can do whatever he wants with my door?” Stan yelled at the boy. Mark saw that Stan was inches from the boys face. “Answer me!”
“I’m sorry,” The boy said.
“Sorry doesn’t cover the hundred bucks I’ve been spending every time I have to get that door refinished.” Stan said.
“I’m..”
“Shut the fuck up,” Stan said. “Do you have money to cover all the damages you’ve caused to my club?”
“No.” The boy said. Mark looked at the boy. He seemed so small when he stood in the middle of the huge nightclub security men. Mark thought Stan looked like and angry Mosquito.
“You don’t have the money,” Stan said, “I guess we’re going to have to take the payment out of your ass then.”
The front of the boy's pants darkened as his bowels released. The bouncers laughed. One pushed the kid from behind and he fell to the floor where he lay prone.
“Stand the fuck up,” Stan said. The boy didn’t move. One of the bouncers lifted the kid up and settled him on his feet. The boy was crying. “Don’t think you’re tears are going to help you. You didn’t have any tears being a baddass outside as you tagged my door.”
Mark drained his beer. “I think you’ve made your point Stan,” he said.
“I didn’t ask your fucking opinion,” Stan said.
“He’s just a kid,” Mark said.
“And you’re going to be fired if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Stan said. He turned angrily toward Mark. “You want this job?” Stan said, “You think you can do this job? This is part of it. Taking care of trash like this. I'm going to take care of him myself.”
“He’s crying. He’s wet his pants. I think he gets the picture,” Mark said.
“Go home Mark,” Stan said.
“Okay, I’ll go home,” Mark said. He got up from the bar and walked over to the bouncers he gently pushed into the group and grabbed the kid by the shirt. “He’s coming with me.”
“You take him out of here and you’re fired,” Stan said.
“What do you want me to do,” Mark said, “This?” Mark slapped the kid hard across the face. The kid let out a shriek and would have fallen if Mark didn’t have a good grip on his shirt. Stan’s face went white.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Stan yelled,.
“This is what you want me to do?” Mark said. He slapped the kid again. The kid’s shirt tore in Mark’s grasp. Mark hefted the sobbing child to his feet.
“I didn’t say hit him,” Stan said, “I just wanted to scare him a little bit. Shit.”
“You scared him enough,” Mark said. “I’m leaving and he’s coming with me.” By now the bouncers had stepped back from the scene making a wide circle. All other activity in the club had stopped. Every eye was on Mark, Stan and the boy. The boy had a small line of blood dripping from his quibbling mouth.
“Okay, Mark,” Stan said. “Get the fuck out of here and take him too. I don’t care. Just make sure he doesn’t come back or it’s your ass. Shit, Mark you’re fucking crazy.” Stan went back to the VIP area and called for another Martini.
Mark looked at the other bouncers for a moment. They wouldn’t meet his gaze. He took the kid back to the front door and shoved him out of it. The boy stumbled up a few steps and looked back down at Mark.
“I’m calling the police,” The kid said.
“Really?” Mark said. “You should be thanking me.”
“For assault?”
“I thought you’d rather take a few slaps in the face,” Mark said.
“He wouldn’t have hit me.”
“Yeah, you looked pretty sure all covered in your own piss and whimpering like you did,” Mark said. “I don’t know what ‘taking payment out on your ass’ means to you. But liquored up like Stan was I wasn’t sure he meant a beating.”
The boys face went pale. Mark pulled a tobacco pipe from his pocket and lit up the bowl he'd packed hours before. The tobacco tasted sweet. Smoke smelling of Maple and honey filled the air.
“If I was you,” Mark said, “I would go.”
The boy walked up the club steps and vanished down the street into the brightening horizon.