when the devil calls

The VP watched the younger member with amusement as he juggled the can for a moment, shaking his head as it fell to the ground. They gave their members far too much free time these days it seemed. “Atta, boy,” Carson encouraged as Vincent helped him give into one of his worse habits. “Why am I not surprised to see that you’re a hell of an enabler?” He asked with a smirk.

Waiting as Vincent turned to grab him a pen, Carson flipped through the random pile of napkins, sticky notes, and papers with random notes scrawled across them. He had spent the past couple of days collecting information anywhere and from anyone that he could, now came trying to put it all together. “I don’t even know if I should be thankin’ you.” He commented as he carefully took the pen from him. Who knew what kind of shit that poor bar pen had seen in its time? Scribbling with the pen on the edge of one of his napkins to make sure it worked, Carson glanced up at Vincent as he began making some additional notes on a few of the pages. “How you been, kid? Haven’t seen much of you the past few days.”

“Even listed it as a skill on my resume.” 

                                 As if he was made to fill out a resume. 

As if he wasn’t told where he was needed and followed without question. 

A quizzical look took over Vince’s features as he stared at the collage of papers, the array of scribbles and differing mediums giving it the appearance of a crazed man’s conspiracy board. Vince wanted to poke, to ask questions — but he mostly refrained. Pecking order of the club kept him silent, but respect for the man made Vince want to offer something in air of support. And besides, the man’s wife was in the hospital. He didn’t need to worry Carson — yet — with his worries. 

“Ah you know, just layin’ low, catchin’ up on some sleep,” he lied. Heavy bags pooled under his eyes, adding to the disheveled look he’d tried to conceal since Scarlet had shot a man. “But what about you, boss? How’s your girl?” 

Concerned eyes skimmed over the assortment of papers before they moved back up to meet Carson, looking for evident signs of distress.  

Closing shifts were far from pleasant, especially when they were done alone. A heavy sigh rose from somewhere deep within Adelaide’s chest as she stepped out into the cool dark that waited for her just beyond the doors of the coffee shop, a trash bag slung over one shoulder. She walked it to the dumpster, heaving it over with a soft grunt and promptly wiping her hands on the front of her apron afterwards.

She began her quick trek back towards Southern Belle, but promptly stopped a few steps in. She spotted a human-shaped figure just a few feet out of reach, their form illuminated by a nearby streetlamp. She paused, silently studying them for a moment as the damp and faded page of a newspaper danced across the pavement. Adelaide weighed her options, trying to decide if approaching a lone stranger in the middle of the night was worth the risk of being mugged.

Taking a couple of tentative steps in their direction, Adelaide noted their less than favorable appearance. “You alright?” She called out, her desire to help outweighing her better judgment. Concern etched itself into delicate features, Adelaide shrinking the once safe space between them, placing a small hand on their shoulder with a tender touch. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not looking too hot.”

“I look better than the other asshole you just missed.” 

That, a lie detector test would have determined, was a lie. 

Vince coughed up a mouth-full of blood as he braced his hand against the wall for support. He felt like shit, he looked like shit, and the ego was going to suffer too if this stranger kept commenting on his appearance. 

The boy tried straightening his hair, concerned that if he looked too disheveled, she’d be concerned enough to call the cops. As beaten and battered as he was, the kid needed less attention on him than ever. 

This beating was what he got for guilt-drinking in a bar not filled with Royals. 

A shaky hand with bloodied knuckles reached into the pocket of his leather cut, pulling out a wallet to hand the stranger two wrinkled hundred dollar bills in exchange for her silence. 

As the night flew by, Xiomara found herself sitting at the far end of the bar; her laptop buzzing and a half filled glass of pinot noir sitting closely behind. Her fingers traced against the keys as her eyes scanned the screen slowly. Of all places, Xio found the most solace in the bar. The silence in her apartment made her feel less at home, the empty feeling removing her focus from work. At least there was other people, bringing her back from the cyber world. 

As the bartender’s voice rang out, she couldn’t help but jump slightly in her seat. Raising her sights from the screen, her mouth pressed into a small grin as the tall male approached. Her attention flickered towards the glass, then back up to him. “Why not?” 

How was someone able to focus on work in this environment? If Vince hadn’t known better, he wouldn't have been able tell if she was a student or some fancy business person. Her dedication to whatever was on the screen completely baffled him. He wasn't what the teachers called studious during his school days and the chaotic environment of his childhood home didn’t help matters much. 

He poured her another pinot noir, eyes trying to see what’s on her screen. 

Vince was a nosy motherfucker. 

“So what, you been here all night hackin’ the IRS or some shit?” 

It was rare that Benjamin stayed out this late, though he was celebrating his own recent victory. He and his partner in crime Evan had successfully stolen and sold one of the higher paid cars which were a personal bonus for them. He chose this very night to celebrate with the gang because Emmaline was at the hospital working an overnight shift. Meaning he could go home drunk and she didn’t have to deal with it. He didn’t like coming home drunk and her having to put up with it. He’s been on that side, and it wasn’t ever fun dealing with someone drunk while being sober. That’s why he liked getting drunk when she was busy. That way, she didn’t have to put up with him. 

Benjamin looked at the young Royal and slid his empty glass over to him. He looked at the watch on his wrist, his vision was blurry enough that he couldn’t tell the time. That usually meant he’d had enough, but he was having fun. “Why the fuck not!” He exclaimed with a smile on his face. “What have you been up to Vince? Are you dating anyone these days?” 

A reactionary smile pulled up Vince’s lips, clearly amused by his buddy’s intoxication. He loved a happy drunk — much preferred to the alternative he occasionally saw around here. Those were rare, much like seeing the rare-sighted Benjamin at this late of an hour.

Happy drunks didn’t stick too well to places like this. 

He grabbed the glass and set it in the sink to wash later, grabbing a fresh one with one hand as he grabbed a scoop of ice with the other. 

“Dating?” He paused.

Vince didn’t even know what he and Scarlet were — he sure as shit wasn’t going to try and offer a definition to something he didn’t fully understand. “I’m uh, doin’ whatever it’s called where you give away too many drinks to pretty girls and regret it when your paycheck comes.” 

He set the drink before Ben. 

“An’ that’ll be six bucks — cause ya’ ain’t that pretty.”

Glancing down at her drink, she weighed her options before pressing her lips together in a smile. “How ‘bout water instead?” This was New York City; after all, she didn’t need to go stumbling around. Especially at this hour, and it wasn’t like she had more money to spend. 

“Thanks though, I just don’t need to a total puddle when I try and get home tonight.”  

“Far as puddles go,” he paused, taking her empty glass to place into the dish washer. “You wouldn’t be the first to leave a puddle’a piss on this floor.” He grabbed a freshly washed glass from the sink, drying it on the towel that hung loosely from his shoulder. 

“Like that asshole Jerry over there,” Vince said, lowering his voice as he gave a subtle nod toward an old, decrepit man in the corner by himself. 

Scoffing at the younger member’s words, Carson didn’t hesitate to crush the soda can that he had been drinking from and toss it lazily at him. Like the rest of the club, Vincent was well aware that their VP hadn’t touched alcohol in years. Instead, his vice was Coca-Cola which he drank like water and was sure was going to end his life a few years earlier than it normally would have.

“I won’t say no to another Coke, kid. That and a pen if you got one back behind the bar.” He requested.

Amusement tinged his features as he hit the crushed can with an open palm, tapping it in the air twice like a hacky sack until he lost focus and it fell to the ground.  ❝ I’ll do ya’ one better, ❞ he mused, dropping out of sight to open the mini fridge for two cans of cola. Vince popped the top of one and placed it before Carson. 

❝ Us bartenders are in the enablin’ business, ❞ he teased. 

Vince turned towards the cash register to grab a pen, satisfaction quickly turning to disgust as his fingers stuck to the pen. Lips were curled upwards as he turned back to Carson.  ❝ So I uh-- I got somethin’ here, ❞ he paused, gently placing it before the man.  ❝ But you’re definitely gonna want a rabies shot an’ a towel after. ❞

   Pursing his lips as he pondered about it for a good few seconds, Chris eventually sighed. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going home just yet. At least, not when he was still aware that he wasn’t fully inebriated.

   ❝I’ll have another beer, Vince.❞ he responded, the tone of defeat evident in his words. Tonight, Vincent was behind the bar, clearly taking up the late shift. ❝Say, is Patrick around?❞

❝ Same one? ❞  

Vince swiped the empty glass from Chris, leaving the foamy remnants from his last beer to meet the chilled new brew. He tilted the glass as he let the ale slowly rise up, spilling over just enough to get a full glass. 

❝ Last I saw he was down in the basement, ❞ Vince said, setting the beer down before his friend. A tinge of concern pulled his eyebrows together. ❝ You all good, man? ❞

“Last call, ya’ filthy bastards,” Vince yelled out, slamming an open palm on the slick bar to call attention to his announcement. 

His words lacked sincerity despite their authoritative sound. 

Club members left whenever the fuck they wanted. Royals were not bound to the constraints of last call ─ only the non-patched patrons had to abide by his loud commands. 

Vince grabbed a (slightly) fresh towel and tossed it on his shoulder. He’d need it when he started cleaning up after the majority of the crowd cleared out. He saw a hand lift up to catch his attention. He lazily sauntered over, a loose grin pulling up on one side of his face.