The Hunt

3

Charlie had told Tom Martyn no a hundred times in as many rude ways as possible. The lure of playing again was not enough, every heart felt spiel fell onto deaf ears and even the team captain, Jack Slaughter, gave up after Charlie sent him one death glare after another. Eventually, the two workers brought over a cooler and handed out beers- including one to Charlie.

"Looks like we're back at square one" Jack commented with a sad sip of his beer, before Sherri finally sat up and pointed at the other two men.

"Nope. We got these two on board finally, we're making progress"

Jack lit up at her attempt to cheer him up before his world was once again brought down.

"Nah" the man in the large camo coat said.

"What do you mean 'nah'? August you just said you would!!" Jack cried in pain as he pointed his bottle at the other man.

"I ain't don said shit, you two bit fuck"

Wyatt laughed before offering his friend a quizzical look. August pointed to Charlie.

"He play, we play"

This time the entire room's eyes fell on Charlie then back to August.

"Oh no..." Wyatt muttered to himself as Sherri giggled. August leaned over and whispered something in Wyatt's ear. He rolled his eyes then turned to Charlie.

"SO what's an English crumpet doing in New York? Far from home kid, you got a story for us?" he asked.

"None of your business" Charlie spat, not entirely sure why he was still here and drinking, time was running out and he was going to be a sweating mess before long "listen this has been nice, thanks for the ticket to where ever the fuck I am...now then...must be off"

He moved towards the shutters and came across his first obstacle, after shaking it a bit, he felt heat rise up to his cheeks. This was supposed to be his big exit from this shit show, instead he floundered and made a fool of himself. Eventually, out of sheer desperation, he tried to lift the heavy metal gate and fell head first into it when his foot slipped on the smooth concrete.

"Oh damn this is hard to watch" Sherri mumbled as Wyatt laughed.

Martyn rushed over and picked Charlie up.

"Well can't say I didn't try, you change your mind you know where I am...but uh...you know I did bring you out here for nothin- you got a place to stay the night? Just until you work out your next move?" the cowboy asked fully knowing Charlie had nothing.

"You shouldn't let junkies stay in your house, your momma not teach you anything about strangers?" Wyatt called from across the room.

The word 'junkie' stung. He didn't think people could tell, but his darting eyes and ever shifting feet must have given him away. He was ashamed of it, of course he was. It was a testament to how far he had fallen, it was an open secret he never wanted to acknowledge but always tended to. Like a love child hidden away in the attic, fed- watered, but never loved and always the bane of his soul. The result of a thousand mistakes.

"I'm not a junkie" he replied weakly, his defence all but laughable. Wyatt quieted down at the look Martyn gave him before he turned back to August and chatted away in what Charlie could only guess as French.

"I got room at the house I rent out on La Rivière Street, I think these shits can tolerate you another night...I can help you know, I know you don't trust a single word another soul says and I ain't looking for your reasons why...but I got you here and I don't mind helping. You need a job, a place to stay...well we all have been down and out at some point. You can call me."