He looked down at it and up at her. “Nothing, don’t worry about it. Club is closed ‘til next weekend. No rehearsal, no nothing,” he said.
“Weren’t the inspectors just in here last month?” Justin asked.
Frankie nodded. “They pop up when they want to. We got some wiring issues I got to take care of this week. I’ll still pay you for your set, but the club’s doors stay closed,” Frankie informed.
Charlie frowned but didn’t contest it as long as she was getting paid. She didn’t miss his energy, though. He was talking fast and trembling a little. She didn’t think he was giving them thefull story but she wouldn’t question it. It wasn’t her business to know.
“Charlie, let me holler at you in the office,” he said.
Charlie nodded and followed him into the privacy of his office.
He handed her a small tote bag.
“Tell your boyfriend I won’t be late again,” Frankie said. “Make sure he knows.”
“My what?” Charlie asked, frowning in confusion. She opened the bag and blew out a sharp breath at the money she found inside. “Frankie, what is...”
“Just tell him,” Frankie said, practically yelling as he sat at his desk, struggling with a pack of cigarettes. His nerves were bad. She didn’t miss his shaky hands.
“Tell who?” she shouted in exasperation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Demi. I don’t want no problems with that nigga. Just take the money and give it to him. He told me to give it to you. I’ll have another twenty-five by next weekend.”
Demi?
“I can’t take this. I don’t even know him!” she protested.
“He said to give it to you. He was specific. Just take it and close the door on your way out,” Frankie said.
Charlie took the bag and rushed to the table where her guitar and tote bag sat. She unlocked the guitar case and put the bag inside.
Her hands shook a little bit, and she didn’t know why. It was just a feeling. Like this money was bad. Like the man who had given it to her was worse.
Did he do that to Frankie’s hand? What is this money about?
Justin placed a hand on her shoulder and Charlie startled.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yeah, umm… I’ll call you. Maybe we can go over next week’s set at my house since the club is closed?” Charlie proposed.
“Yeah, that’s a date, just hit me,” he said. “You need a ride?”
“No, thanks. My car’s out front,” she said. “But you can come by in about an hour,” Charlie said.
“Bet,” Justin said. “I’ma run by the crib, grab some food, then come through.”
Charlie walked out, rushing over to her old, raggedy car. The old-school, blue Corsica was nothing fancy, in fact, it was falling apart. Rust at the bottom of all four doors, evidence from the many winters it had survived.
She hopped in and started her car. She couldn’t get to her house fast enough. She practically sped the entire way. She hadn’t stored Demi’s number and she had thrown the card in the trash.
“The one day I want to take my trash to the dumpster,” she mumbled as she pulled into her apartment complex. She parked, racing over to the dumpster that was now full.
“Damn it!” she said, stomping her foot in frustration. “Stassi ’s punk-ass,” Charlie fussed, needing someone to fault for throwing the business card away in the first place. Charlie fought the air. “Son of a bitch,” she mumbled as she gripped the sides of the dumpster, grunting as she lifted herself onto the side. She sat on the edge, staring down at the mountain of trash beneath her. “This motherfucka.”
The sound of a car horn startled Charlie and when she turned and saw Demi parked next to the dumpster, standing outside his open car door, one hand on the roof as he stared up at Charlie in perplexity, she lost her balance falling into the pile of trash.
“Aghh!” she screamed, landing in something wet.
