Chatper 8: Paint and Death

Soon Charlie reached the abandoned warehouse, cracked open a bottle of the cheapest Vodka money can buy and chugged it down. Now he could begin his masterpiece.

Hues of Red, Black, Blue, and White bled across the rusted and rotting walls of the old warehouse. Charlie knew the ways of grafitti well, and he never made mistakes. The paint can became an extension of his body, like the paint was flowing from his finger tips. His lungs filled with the toxic fumes from the cans, but Charlie could have cared less, he simply washed the paint down with more cheap Vodka.

Slowly, the masterpiece began to take shape. Everywhere on the 20 foot space there were red and white roses, and they were beautiful, only the roses were bleeding a deep, dark red. And then a beautiful face began to appear on the wall. Charlie had committed every curve and dimple of his mother's face to memory.

At one point, Charlie paused to puke up a little Chinese food from earlier. Then he proceeded to wash the taste of death out of his mouth with even more Vodka. The liqour helped the pain, painting for his mother gave him more pain, so Charlie drank more.

Soon after, Charlie saw Fil wander by mutterring about this or that. Fil asked Charlie what he was doing. And Charlie explained he was painting for his dead mother, so she could be remembered in her home town.

Fil shook his head, "Death ain't easy Charlie, but its gotta happen to everything. Dying is the only thing you have to do in your life. And thats the truth. You just gotta know when its your time."

Charlie was taken back by Fil's comment, partially because he didn't think a hobo would be so intraspective and partially because he was drunk as shit and anything can have a profound affect on a drunk person. Charlie thought for a moment, shook his head and went back to painting.

Later, Marcus Manuel passed by, looking terribly shaken and bruised up.

"Yo! Where's that old man Oscar at?" Charlie shouted, though his words now were terribly slurred.

Luckily, Marcus spoke drunk, and said, "Oh we got into some trouble last night, he's probably still recovering.

Charlie nodded, he knew not to ask anymore questions.

"Well... I'm glad someone is finally making this old piece look nice. Keep up the good work Charlie," Marcus said.

Before Charlie could respond, Marcus was gone. Charlie's hands looked like they were dipped in paint now, but he kept working. Soon, the sun started to rise, and Charlie's masterpiece was nearly complete.

As the first light of day fell onto the rundown town of Washington Heights, Charlie's masterpiece caught a beam of sunshine. His mother looked beautiful and so real in the light of the sun. Charlie completed his work by signing his name, and writing, "...And even the Angels will envy her beauty and kindness." in black paint. Charlie stepped back from the wall, admirred his work and began to cry. He bawled his eyes out, like an infant, and he was so intoxicated his tears tasted like Vodka. It was his best work, it was perfect, and it was all for his mother; all for her that loved him so much.

He knew there was nothing left for him in this shithole town. He knew there was no one left who even loved him on this shithole earth. He missed his mother.

The paint had barely finished drying when Charlie pulled out the Desert Eagle from his bag and flipped the safety off. He looked up to the sky, and pushed the cold steel barrel into his mouth. He could taste the gun powder, and he could imagine what the hollow points looked like, just waiting to be released.

Charlie said a prayer, but he knew God couldn't hear him.

He tried hard to picture his mother's face, and opened his eyes and realized her face was right in front of him.

Charlie pulled the trigger.

Chapter 7: Beautiful

Charlie passed by a out-of-place ice cream truck just as he reached the edge of Washington Heights where the hardware store was. He would have been more alarmed by the truck, but back in Brooklyn, you could buy crack or Fudge Sickles out of every ice cream truck.

He reached the front door of the store and pushed it open. Immediately, his nostrils filled with the scent of paint, fresh wood, and metal tools. Charlie looked at the sleazy cashier with a bad perm and asked her where the spray paint was.

"Over there on the back wall." She answered in with a twang of bossiness.

Charlie choose to not thank the rude girl and walked straight to where the spray paint was. He quickly picked out the 15 cans he would need for his masterpiece. He knew the job would only take 13 or 14, but he always liked to have a little extra paint, just in case. Struggling to clutch every can, Charlie walked up to the register and set everything down in front of the cashier.

"Got everything you need sir?" She was even more sassy this time.

"Yes." Charlie muttered.

"Well. You better paint a pretty picture for your mother, she loved you, you know?" she said.

"Excuse me?" Charlie asked.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything mister." she replied.

Charlie started to feel reality slipping away. His mission for his mother consumed his world, and he couldn't take much more of it. He was hearing things, seeing things, and all around going crazy.

He quickly collected his things, threw a hundred in the slut's face, and ran out the store.

Running out, he happened to bump into none other than George Jefferson. Jefferson was looking shifty, and a little on edge.

"Yo Jefferson, my man," Charlie said. "I heard a car crash last night, then saw you come running. Whats up?"

"Oh boy. I'll tell ya. I got fucked up man. I stole this dealer's car, and shit man, it was too fast. Now I gotta buy supplies here to fix my wounds, they ask to many questions at the hospital." Jefferson said.

"Well. Good luck with that man." Charlie said.

"Thanks, say what you need all the paint for kid?" he asked.

"It's for my masterpiece. Devoted to my deceased mother."

"Cool man. Way to go." Jefferson said, he appeared to still be a little out of it.

Jefferson waved goodbye and walked inside. Charlie started on the trek back to town. He listened to the rain start to fall onto his head. The rain tasted especially salty, like tears. Then Charlie realized it was he that was crying. He brushed at his face and kept walking, eyes on the masterpiece he would create.

Chapter 6: Spraypaint Cans

Charlie woke up to his head throbbing and the noises of Ms. Wong banging pots and pans. He let out an enormous sigh, and then he started to pick the pieces of dried blood from his straight black hair.

"You fall Charlie?" Ms. Wong asked.

"Yeah, I fell onto a curb last night. I'm okay now though. How are you?" Charlie said.

"Good Good. You get to work okay?" she said.

"Alright. I got it," he said.

Charlie busted his ass all day making ungodly amounts of Sesame Chicken and Stir-Fried rice. When he was on his break, he stepped outside to have a cigarette. As he happily puffed away on his cancer stick he noticed a strange black van drive past twice in a row. Charlie would have been more alarmed but these days nothing really seemed normal. He couldn't stop thinking about his mom, why did all these weird things keep happening to him?

His head hurt now. He felt light headed, and stumbled to the nearest corner store to buy a forty. Liquor could usually make the pain go away, and if that couldn't help, there was always some weed. He chugged the crisp Colt 45 down in three big gulps. He felt better now and walked back into work.

When he finished cleaning up the store, he gathered up his cash that he kept in that old coffee can and stepped out. It started to sleet, but Charlie welcomed the harsh weather cause it kept the god damn police busy. He needed about 30 spray paint cans to complete the job, but first he needed to check out the warehouse to see where he could throw up the art.

As soon as Charlie got to the warehouse he knew where he would do it. There was an entire wall untouched by the small time artists, and he knew what colors he wanted. The sunlight would hit the wall just right at dusk, and the red and white roses would look very choice against the bland brown the warehouse was painted. Charlie quickly sketched out the plans for his masterpiece and was surprised when his sketch book started to get wet. He soon realized that he was crying because of his mother, and he let the tears flow.

Then he rose to his feet, and started walking towards the hardware store in the next town over to get his paint. He felt a strange quiver come over him as he passed a young lady sitting on a bench. It was none other than Snazzy Filazy, a sweet girl that frequented the Chinese place. But when he looked into her face, her eyes were crying blood. Streams of hot, red blood streamed down her face, and she looked deep into his eyes.

"Your mother misses you Charlie, make haste, don't forget your mission," she said.

"Holy fucking shit!" Charlie screamed, and before Snazzy could react Charlie was three blocks away.

"Well gosh, what was his problem?" Snazzy said. She, of course, was not crying blood.

Charlie stopped running and leaned against a building while he caught his breath. He knew these images wouldn't stop until he completed the mission. He straightened up, brushed off his clothes, and got back on the road to the hardware store.

The sun was setting now, and Charlie couldn't help but notice the sky's blood red color. Like the whole world was bleeding. He knew what he had to do.

THE PIECE

Charlie came up with a lame excuse to miss work the morning after he bought his tool.

"I gotta go to the doctor, I gotta stomach ache and I need medicine," Charlie lamely said to Ms. Wong.

"Okay Charlie! You make noodles when you come back though," Ms. Wong replied.

"Alright. The noodles, I got it." Charlie replied.

Charlie stepped out the noodle store and jacked the nearest bike he could find. He came upon a beautiful BMX bike with the black mags so nice, and he had to have it. Charlie whipped out a pair of metal cutters, busted the lock, and was rolling out in under 30 seconds. He popped a few bunny hops and wheelies, trying to look natural on his newly stolen bike.

Then Charlie remembered he had to stay focused. He scanned the worn out dump of a town that laid out in front of him, it wasn't New York and subways, but it would have to do. He had to throw up one of the biggest graffiti pieces he had ever done. All for her. He rolled down several roads but couldn't find the right spot to sketch out his master plan.

Soon, Charlie came upon a local, but lovable bum named Fil. He bought a couple of soggy newspapers from Fil, and inquired about some of Fil's favorite chill spots. Charlie knew bums always knew where straight spots to sleep were, and where there were bums, there was always a good spot to do some graffiti.

"Well, I don't know mister, some times when it gets really cold I will climb into the old warehouse at the edge of downtown and sleep in there," Fil replied, leaking out a breath that smelled of raw sewage and rat piss.

"Thanks Fil, I can always count on you," Charlie said.

Charlie popped a ill barspin of the curb and quickly pedaled away. As he looked at the sky's overcast clouds he could almost make out his mother's face smiling down onto him. He was surprised and felt chills go down his spine, Charlie looked up for one more glance; but didn't see the open manhole.

Blackness.

Charlie slowly lifted his head from the pool of salty sticky liquid around him. It was nighttime now, probably eight or nine o'clock. Charlie turned down to realized that his head was resting in a pool of his own blood. He remembered the feeling of the curb smacking him in the back of the head now. He got to his feet and felt light-headed. He could barely mount the bike to ride home.

When Charlie finally had ditched the bike and stumbled into the Chinese restaurant, it was probably one in the morning. He made noodles like a zombie, emotionless and tired. He fell onto his cot, and the blood on the back of his head had just started to coagulate, it had also stopped bleeding partially because of the immense amount of dirt in the gash.

Charlie slept deeper than he had in his whole life.

Chapter 4: Crazy

Charlie flicked back his wet black hair, and he shook off his wetness in the door way. He looked around the old, sleazy pawn shop, there wasn't much to see. A couple of fishing poles, some TVs, broken vacuum cleaners, and jewelry from lost causes. Finally, Charlie's eyes fell onto the half-rotten old man, he resembled the crypt keeper, and looked like he might be dead.

"Hello?" Charlie said, half expecting the old man to be in a coma.

"I heard you would be coming to see me. Oscar is quite fond of you. Come closer, so I can get a look at you," said the old man.

Charlie walked forward, hesitating at first because with every step the old man smelled more and more like a dead baby fetus at low tide.

"So do you know what I need?" Charlie asked.

"Yes, Yes I do. But before I sell it to you, you must promise that no innocent bloodshed will result from this gun." said the old man.

"Of course. The person who this is meant for asked for it. They need it." Charlie said firmly.

"OK. OK, kid. How does a Desert Eagle sound? Ever shot one of those?" said the old man.

Charlie nodded, he remembered when he was in a gang in high school, and he had to kill three people to get out.

"Well. Here you are." said the old man, handing him the hand cannon.

Charlie threw a 100 dollar bill on the counter, and he tucked the piece into his pants as he walked away.

"Do it for her Charlie. Remember everything is for her. She loved you," the old man said from behind him.

Charlie whipped around quickly, but the old man had vanished. Charlie shook away a shiver, and stepped out the front door. It was late now, and Charlie was getting tired. As he began the walk back to the Chinese restaurant, he wondered if he was insane. He had heard voices before, but he had never heard them this frequently. He always thought those voices were his conscience, but now he wondered what they really were. Maybe they were angels leading him in the right direction, or maybe it was the work of Satan, poisoning his mind with evil ideas. Either way, Charlie knew his mother loved him, and he knew he had to do it; for her.

He had reached the back door of the restaurant, and he slipped inside. He shed his clothes, flopped down onto the cot and tried to sleep. He thought about Billie Jean's slut-ass, he thought about Oscar and the basketball game he had promised tomorrow. He knew Oscar tired easily, and he could usually beat him, but despite his weight; Oscar could still hit a mean three. Maybe Charlie would throw a twenty on the game tomorrow. But above all, Charlie thought about his mother, he didn't even have a picture of her anymore, he had lost the only one in a fire in his old orphanage. He had stared at that picture for so long he had every dimple and line on her face memorized. He thought about her beautiful face, and he drifted away into a deep sleep.

Chapter 3: Ain't no sunshine when she's gone.

Charlie's feet seemed to have a mind of their own, and his legs were shaking because he had never bought a gun before. Just as he started to let his mind wander, he came across a pay phone and thought of Billie Jean.

Jamming his hand into his pocket he fumbbled to find two quarters to stick into the coin slot. The coins clinked pleasingly, and every push of a number left Charlie's ears ringing with a melodic note. It rang.

A gruff voice answered the phone, "Hello. Who is this?"

"What the fuck. I should be asking the same question. What little rat-bastard of a man is picking up my girl's phone?"

"Oh," the rat-bastard said followed by a chuckle, "You must be Charlie."

"Yeah and you're a dead man," Charlie hissed back. "Could you put Billie Jean on the phone?"

"Whatever," the bastard replied.

"Hello?" Billie Jean said softly.

"Billie Jean what the fuck is this bullshit? You a hoe or something now?" Charlie screamed.

"Charlie, please baby, understand; what was I supposed to do six months ago when you suddenly left talking all crazy about some mission for your mother."

"I told you. I have to do this. It's for my mother. I thought you loved me Billie Jean. I thought you would wait," Charlie said, squeezing back the tears.

"You didn't even know the woman Charlie, she left you on the steps of some church in Brooklyn when you were one year old. She didn't love you baby." Billie Jean said.

"Don't talk to me about love you slut. You threw away three fucking years of us away on some dude who sounds so dumb he could pass for a cave man. And I can smell his stank ass breath over the phone," Charlie yelled, the tears were flowing freely now.

"But..." Billie Jean stammered.

"No. Don't start with me Billie Jean. You're dead to me," he said.

Charlie slammed the phone onto the reciever and punched at his face, trying to beat the tears away. He stummbled away from the phone. He felt the world caving in on him.

As he turned away he bumpped into Alan Douglas. Charlie knew to well Alan's schemes, he regularly tried to use food stamps at the Chinese spot.

"Hello there Charlie," Alan said.

"Whats up Alan, who are you ripping off now?" Charlie said.

"Well no one at the moment. I'm on my way to a hot date. Say, why are you looking all water eyed?" Alan asked.

"Nothing. My girl is fucking some random dude right now. Its cool though, I got better shit to do," Charlie snapped back.

"Well, last time a girl cheated on me, I pushed her into a wood chipper, but I might have over reacted a bit," Alan said.

"Thats cool Alan. Whatever. I gotta get going," Chalie said turning to leave.

"Me too," Alan said, "I'll be actually getting some tonight!"

Charlie didn't even hear him, he was already sprinting down the block because it had begun to rain. He didn't mind though. The rain washed all over his face, and the tears rolled away with it. He was tough, he didn't need her anyways. He kept a steady sprint all the way to the neon lights of the dingy old pawn shop. He looked down into the reflection of a puddle, and smiled.

"Time to get a gun," he said to himself, ducking into the door of the pawn shop.

Chapter 2: Night life

Charlie was relieved when Ms. Wong finally flipped the closed sign on the Ching Ching door. The last customers, that little Jew with his sweet, old grandmother had been especially annoying. He kept begging her for money to buy his "girlfriend" a present, but Charlie and the kid's grandmother could tell he didn't really have one. It had been a busy day, and Charlie smelled like he had been building the Great Wall all day. The restaurant didn't have a shower, so Charlie stripped down and went outside to take a hobo shower with the hose out back. He grabbed a bar of soap and scrubbed all over. Just as Charlie was about to rinse off and head back inside, a group of girls drove by and screamed at him, "Nice bod." He knew he was attractive, but he didn't let these mere girls faze him because he had a real woman waiting for him in Brooklyn.

Her name was Billie Jean, and she was his lover. She was beautiful and an inspiring model. After he finished drying off, Charlie picked up his tips and headed out to the only cool place in town, Oscar Alcazar's butcher shop. He had met Oscar a week earlier during a delivery, and they ended up having becoming good friends on account of they both loved nice cars and beautiful women. Charlie admired Oscar's illegal exhibitions, and often spent his free time chilling in the butchery.

Charlie approached the door, and knocked. Shortly after, a burly looking Jamaican opened the door and said, "Can I help you mon?"

Charlie replied the secret password, "I'd like a little New York Strip please."

"Well come on in then Mr. Slicks," he said.

Charlie walked down into the secret room in the back of the butcher shop through the meat freezer. The room smelled of cigar smoke, and a group of rough looking men sat around a table gambling Vegas-style. From behind him Charlie heard a rumbling voice, "Well, well, well, White China, how ya doin?"

Charlie spun around to give some dap to Oscar. "How you doing Oscar?"

"Good, Good." he replied. "Go ahead have a seat, need a beer?"

"Sorry Oscar, I can't stay for long, I actually came to ask you a favor," Charlie said. "I need a good connection for a gun, nothing fancy, I just need something that will kill someone."

"Whoa, Whoa!" Oscar shouted. "Whatcha need a gun for?"

Charlie simply replied, "My mission Oscar, I need it for my mission."

Oscar nodded. He was one of the few people he knew about Charlie's mission, and he respected him for it. Oscar pulled out his wallet which was bursting at the seams with 100 dollar bills. He fished a crisp bill out of the wallet along with a business card covered with strange symbols.

"This should cover the gun. Go to the pawn shop, mention my name, and give the man this card...He knows the drill and owes me a favor," Oscar said.

"Thanks Oscar, you've done more for me than my father ever did. And I hold you close to my heart because of it," Charlie said.

Oscar gave Charlie a hug (but a manly one at that), lifting him off the ground, and nearly crushing his lungs. Then told him good luck. With that Charlie left out the way he came. He stepped out the door of the shop and into the street. Something caught his eye, and he looked across the street only to meet eyes with the strange old man from earlier. He was standing in the middle of the road, just waving at Charlie. Charlie sprinted to where he saw the man standing, switchblade drawn, still covered with a little dried blood from his last subway brawl. But once Charlie reached the place where the old man had just been standing, he disappeared again.

Shaking off the feeling that he was going insane, Charlie flicked his switchblade back up and put it in his pocket. He felt light headed as he walked toward the pawn shop.

Chapter One: Noodles

An alarm went off in the back of the Chinese restaurant. Charlie slowly lifted his head from his cot that was slightly too small for his long, tall body. He rubbed his eyes and looked around his room, which was actually a pantry scattered with fortune cookies, noodles, and cans with Chinese writing on it Charlie couldn't understand. All the possessions Charlie owned in the world were in this room: a book bag full of spray paint cans and various tools he could break into cars with, a old duffel bag full of clothes, and a faded Chock-full-O-Nuts coffee can. He also now had a cot Ms. Wong had bought him from a thrift store, and some sheets that smelled faintly of General Tso's chicken. Ms. Wong seemed nice enough, he worked for a meager wage and had free lodging which was better than the last six months of Charlie's life when he was living on a freight train.

Charlie climbs out of bed, and steps out the back door to roll a joint, he needs the pot to make the pain go away. Everyday starts with a good smoke. It was still dark outside, he didn't need to worry about getting caught in the act. In good light, anyone could see the hardcore tattoos covering his arms like sleeves, and his jet black hair which tends to be shaggy. His frame is skinny, but his appearance is tough and strong, like he has been through a lot in his life; even though he is only 19. He lights up, and gets lost within his mind, he thinks about how his mother could have grown up in a shit hole town like this and what chores Ms. Wong will make him do today. Suddenly a vision for his master piece flashes in his head, quickly, Charlie pulls out a notepad a scribbles down his idea. The joint has started to burn his fingers, and he stomps it out on the ground near the dumpster. "Well good fucking morning," he says to himself as he walks back inside. He wonders why he is even here in this shit hole town when he could be back in his Brooklyn appartment with his girl. He misses her more and more, and he hopes she misses him back. Then he remembers his important mission and shakes off his doubts.

Ms. Wong arrives soon after and says, "Charlie, you make a noodles, okay?" Charlie nods his head and starts rolling out the noodle dough. Soon it is lunch time, and the restaurant gets crowded. Charlie is frying chicken and egg rolls now and boiling rice. Suddenly, he hears a laugh that reminds him of his childhood. Unknowingly, he runs out of the kitchen up to the counter only to come face to face with some young woman, not the one he misses. He slinks back into the kitchen and asks Ms. Wong for a break. Then he walks outside, and quitely sobs for five minutes straight. He hears someone coming and quickly wipes away the salty tears. "You alright sonny?" a strange, old man asks. Charlie looks him dead in the eye and says, "Fuck off grandpa." Then he turns to walk back inside the resturaunt. The old man then says, "I know you miss her, but keep focused on your mission Charlie, you have to for her sake. Everyone must remember her." Charlie spins around quickly, but the old man has seemingly vanished. Shaking off the strange string of events involving the mysterious old man, Charlie says to himself, "Shit. That pot has got to be laced with some sketchy shit."