Let the Record Show

The Gang has a Plan

"Science Bitch fucked Charlie," Frank announced as he arrives at Paddy's Sunday morning. "Didn't come home last night."

Behind the bar, Dennis tilted his head with a look of half-assed pity. "Poor Charlie. If only he listened to me."

"No." Mac insisted. "No, that is not true. If Charlie was gay, I'd know it."

Dee rolled her eyes, meeting Dennis. They both shared the same thought.

"We gotta do something about this!" Frank insisted.

"Frank, it's already a done deal." Dennis was bending over, searching for something beneath the bar. "He's manipulating Charlie. Guys like us, we get bored easily. If he's not done with Charlie now, he will be soon."

"Guys like us?" Dee repeated, only to be ignored.

"I agree with Frank!" Mac chimed in. "If he's trying to turn Charlie gay, we gotta stop him. Or else God will give him AIDS."

"You are so far off the mark there, buddy." Dennis was shouting now, his whole body beneath the bar: "Where the hell are all the towels!?"

A sudden realization settles on the gang. Dennis standing to his full height. Sundays are Charlie's busiest days. The start of the week for the entire bar. He takes all the towels to the laundromat. Brings in new bags of ice. Refills the taps. And it was Sunday. And Charlie wasn't here.

Voices raised, fingers pointing at one another, trying to be heard above the rest.

"I'm not doing Charlie Work!"

"Well, I'm not gonna do it!"

"Why not? It's your bar!"

"It's your bar too!"

Finally, above them (literally, as he crawled with some difficulty from his stool to the top of the bar) Frank's voice boomed over the rest: "Don't you see what this means!"

Mac, Dennis, and Dee stood in bewilderment as Frank raised his arms, as though he were some deformed messiah here to solve their problems. "We gotta get Charlie away from Science Bitch!"

"Yeah, and exactly how are we gonna do that?" Dennis scoffed, though he lacked another solution.

Frank reached into his pocket and retrieved a grimey envelope, holding it up for everyone to see. "I already have a plan."

...

Waking up in strange places isn't abnormal for Charlie, but he was happy to find this strange place was neither strange nor the worst place he's slept. The crisp white ceiling was ugly, but he recognized it instantly.

"Doc?"

The apartment was quiet. The only sounds coming from outside traffic.

Charlie stretched his limbs before sitting up, running a hand through his beard to loosen his memory of last night. Charlie playing songs and Doc writing the lyrics down on Charlie's sheet music. Sheet music that was now neatly stacked on the coffee table before him, tape recorder placed on top.

Charlie didn't remember falling asleep, but he vaguely remembered Doc saying he was going to bed, and for Charlie to lock up when he left. Apparently, he never did.

Pressing the play button on the device, Charlie listened.

"Charles, I didn't want to wake you, but I have an appointment today. Help yourself to anything you like in the kitchen. The key is next to the coffee pot, please lock up when you go and place it under the front mat." The message played white noise for a while, and Charlie nearly shut it off, but Doc returned. His tone less formal and more genuine: