Charlie Huston - No Dominion

– Uh-uh.

– Uh-uh? What uh-uh?

– Uh-uh you ain’t comin’ in.

– Why? Why the fuck not?

– Cuz ya can’t follow the rules. You talk too loud and you curse and you ain’t coming in.

– What the fuck are you talking about I don’t follow the fucking rules!?!

Dominick starts to close the door.

I tap him on the shoulder.

– It’s OK, he’s with me.

Philip sees me for the first time.

– Hey, oh, hey, Joe. You still here? Thought you might have left by now. Getting close to sunup, you know.

He winks at me.

– Sunup. You know.

Dominick looks at me.

– You sure you wanna vouch for him?

– Yeah, let him in.

He holds the door and Philip comes in.

– Yeah, Joe’s my pal, he’ll fuckin’ vouch for me.

– Watch your mouth, Phil.

– Sure, yeah.

Dominick still has the door open.

– So you goin’ out?

Philip shows me sad eyes.

– You leavin’ now, Joe? Too bad. Wanted to buy you a drink or somethin’. Take care and all.

I nod at Dominick.

– No thanks, Dom, I’ll stick around a little.

He sighs and closes the door. Guy opens and closes the door from 4 a.m. to 10 a.m. and tells people to keep it down and not to curse. Think he’d like his job a little more.

I catch Phil at the bar.

– So, Phil.

– Oh, Joe, hey. Decided to stay? Sure that’s a good idea? Like I say, getting light soon. Know how you hate to be going home when the sun’s up and all.

– Yeah, thanks for the concern. I’ll stick around a little longer.

The bartender comes over. I order another round for myself. Phil stands there and waits, but I don’t order one for him and he finally gives in and asks for a cup of water. Two bucks, the cheapest thing you can get here. The bartender takes a plastic cup over to the Igloo and pulls the little drain plug at the bottom of the ice chest, filling the cup with melted icewater. Philip looks at it.

– That sanitary?

The bartender plucks the dollar bill and four quarters from Phil’s palm and tosses them in the cashbox.

– Like you care.

Phil picks a flake of something black out of the water.

– Jeez, what the fuck’s his problem?

Blackie looks at him and clears his throat.

I lead Phil to the table I was occupying.

– Watch your mouth.

– Yeah, yeah, I know. Language, language.

We sit.

He stares into his cup, making sure there are no other contaminants floating around.

– Two bucks for some water, you’d think they’d at least give you a bottle or something.

– Phil.

He looks up.

– Yeah?

– Where’s my guy?

He finds another particle in the water and chases it around with his finger.

– Your guy?

– The one you were supposed to hook me up with.

He shows me a speck stuck to the tip of his index finger.

– What’s that look like to you?

I grab his finger.

– Phil, where’s The Count?

He pulls his finger free and points it over my shoulder.

– He’s right there, man. The Count’s right there.

I look at the guys playing pool.

– The one taking his shot.

I look at the one taking his shot: twenty to twenty-five, skinny, mop of blond hair, little fringe of blond goatee, and a faded brown Count Chocula T-shirt.

Philip wipes the speck from his finger onto the thigh of his jeans.

– I mean, jeez, how’d you miss the guy? Told you he’s called The Count.

Philip makes the introductions.

– Hey, hey, Count. This is my man Joe. Joe, this is The Count.

The Count flips his fingers at me, not offering to shake.

– Hey, Joe. ’S up?

– Wanted to have a word.

He looks over his shoulder at the guy racking the balls on the pool table.

– I got another game.

– I can wait.

He smiles, points at my watch.

– But not too long, right?

– No, not too long.

He twirls his pool cue.

– Yeah, got the same condition. Let me knock this guy off and we’ll go someplace.

I watch him play. He’s sharp on the table. Smooth. Keeps up a patter with a couple girls sitting on one of the couches. Between shots he takes a clove cigarette from one of their mouths without asking. He drags on it and passes it back, steps to the table and casually sinks the eight. The loser comes over to shake and The Count passes him his cue.

– Take the table, man. I got to go.

He looks over at me, flashes a finger, asking for another second, and chats up the girls as he puts on his fake fur-lined cord jacket, plaid scarf and furry Russian hat. Before he comes over to me he’s flipped open his phone and entered both girls’ numbers into it.

– Thanks for waiting, man.

I get up. Phil gets up.

– So cool, where to, guys?

I put a hand on Philip’s shoulder and press him back into his chair.

– Stay, Phil.

He starts to rise again.

– But.

I point a finger.

– Stay.

He stays. We go.

– Hey, girlie. No, I’m up. Yeah, right, as if. I don’t know, just heading for my crib. Right now? Girlie, you know I want to, but I got a thing I got to do. That ain’t right. That ain’t right. Girlie, you know I don’t rock like that. No doubt. There was any way, I’d be there. Yeah? Yeah? You are such a bad girlie. You know you are. Yeah. Sure. That’s it. Later.

The Count snaps his cell phone closed.

– Sorry about that. She’s not my regular thing, but she likes to think she is. I could shine her on, but the girl is just so damn dirty, I don’t want to lose the hookup. Know what I mean?

– Sure, I know.

– Right you do. This is the place.

It’s an old brick building, right next to the El Iglesia de Dios Church on 6th between B and C. The place is turreted. Oxidized copper plating details the roofs and gables.

– You live here?

– Yeah, I know, all castlelike and such. Didn’t plan it that way.

I eye the renovated lobby through the glass door.

– I was thinking about the money.

He takes out a set of keys.

– Oh, that. Well, I got like a trust fund I draw on. Money’s no thing.

I look at my watch: almost five forty-five. Mid-January: sunrise just after seven. I look at the sky. There’s a heavy overcast. Even if I’m out right at seven, there shouldn’t be enough UVs hitting the street to do me any real harm. The Count catches my eye.

– Don’t sweat the sun. You get stuck here, you can hang. I got some chicks staying with me. All like to party.

– No thanks. We’ll talk. I’ll go home.

– Cool by me.

He opens the door.

We take the elevator. The Count looks down from the numbers as they light up.

– Thanks for getting rid of Philip, man. That guy, he starts tagging after you and there’s just no way to lose him.

– You hang out with him much?

– No chance. He just always shows up. Something’s going on and he hears about it. One of those guys. Nothing wrong with him. He’s just, he’s such a…

– Renfield.

– Yeah, he is. Didn’t want to say. Thought he might be your friend or something.

– He’s not my friend.

The elevator stops, the doors open and he leads me down the landing on the fourth floor. A door at the end of the hall opens while he’s still fiddling the key into the lock. A twenty-something girl in a pink leather miniskirt and black camisole top, her blond hair done up in pigtails, jumps into his arms.

– Hey, baby.

She wraps her legs around his waist and plants her mouth on his. They make out for a couple seconds, then The Count pulls his face away.

– Brought a friend.

She looks at me.

– Hey, friend.