Charles at the Club
The band members sat in the living room trying to think of something to do. They had all the best toys in the world, and in Toki's case it wasn't metaphorical. His model planes really were the best in the world, or at least the most expensive.
The boys were bored though. Having the second largest economy in the world at their disposal didn't keep them from feeling a sense of lazy restlessness.
"We could go to the club," Pickles said.
"Always yous wants to being goes to clubs," Swisgaar said. "Is bored of clubs."
"Ok then, what do you guys want to do?" Nathan asked.
"We could get really drunk," Pickles said.
"And then what?" Nathan asked.
Pickles took a swig of vodka. "What do you mean? That's all - just get really drunk."
"We could beat up some emo kids. That's metal." Nathan said.
"Na, we brokes the emosis kids yesterdays. They just cries for mommies. Was no funs."
"I know what we could do," Pickles said. "Want to have some fun with the butler?"
"Yeah, what kind of fun?" Nathan asked.
"Let's take him to the club and get him drunk. I want to see what kind of drunk he is."
"Yeahs," Swisgaar said. "Maybe we coulds get hims laids. I bets hes a virgins."
"Yeah, hesh probably ish," Murderface said.
The door opened and Charles Ofdensen walked in. He adjusted his glasses. "Ok, we have a meeting in ten minutes with a major soda manufacturer, and then there's the Doritos spokesman…"
He trailed off as he realized they were staring at him. For a disconcerting moment he actually thought they were listening to him.
"You seems like a funs guy," Toki said.
"I fail to see what that has to do with the meeting we have today, Toki," Ofdensen said.
"Dude, we want to hang with you tonight," Nathan said.
"You want to…hang with me?" Charles asked in a monotone voice.
"Yeah," Pickles said. "There's a club we haven't gone to yet, and we want to take you there. I was just telling Nathan I bet you'd like it."
"While I doubt you have any idea what my hobbies are, I always accompany you on your excursions. Someone has to clean up after you boys."
"Uh, yeah, but tonight we want you to actually hang with us. You know, lose the suit and drink some," Nathan said.
He was about to refuse, when he remembered a thought from the previous week. He didn't really understand his charges. He wanted to comprehend their mindset, and this might be an opportunity.
"Alright, I'll do that, if you guys agree to pay attention during both meetings."
"Brutal," Nathan said. "We'll do it."
When he met them that night in the living room, he was wearing a black t-shirt with a leather jacket and blue jeans. His normally slicked back hair was scruffy and untamed.
"Uh, dude, is that what you're wearing?" Nathan asked.
"Yes, why? Are you surprised that I can, uh, let loose once in a while?"
"It's ok, but did you iron those jeans?" Nathan asked.
"Just because we're going to have fun is no excuse to be sloppy."
"That's dildoes," Skwisgaar said. "Yous has to be sloppies to have funs."
"Come on, I'm getting bored," Nathan said.
They took the Deathlimo since there wasn't room for all of them in the Deathcycle. Toki had a fake ID, which the guy didn't even look at. He waved them all in, but he stopped Charles.
"Sorry, man, you're not Orchid Lounge material. Get lost."
Charles looked around. The others getting through the line were rough, tatooed men that looked like they'd done a few years in prison.
Nathan grabbed him by the arm and pulled him through the line. "He's with us."
They made their way into the club without more problems. Charles noticed they were watching him and grinning. So that's it, he thought. This is one of their weird pranks.
He'd been in sleazy clubs before. His job as the Deathklok manager was only a cover for his covert activities. He'd been a lot of places that would shock the boys - some of those places truly brutal in a way they'd never understand. They were the first mission he'd ever felt a personal interest in. They were like family to him, even if they'd never know how he felt about them.
Pickles shoved a beer in his hand. "Drink up, man. You only live once, right?"
He was too busy watching what was going on around him, and he took a swig of beer before he noticed what he was holding. He grimaced. Ugh, domestic lite beer. I could be getting some important paperwork done, but I'm here babysitting the boys and drinking bad beer.
Murderface shoved him with an elbow. "Hey, robotsch. Letsch get some chichsch." He pointed toward the bar.
He was completely bored. "Sure, why not?" He downed the beer in one gulp, just to be rid of it.
"Hey," Murderface said. "Thatsch not bad. I didn't thinsch you could drinksh."
Skwisgaar was already at the bar, chatting up the women. "So then I saids, why does you not knows who I ams? And he saids, yous the janitors, right?"
They laughed at his joke like it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. Both women were obviously competing for his attentions. A blond clung to one arm, while a brunette played with her drink's cherry in a suggestive manner.
"Hello, managers man and dildoes. Ladies these is ours managers mans and a dildoes."
"I'm notsch a dildoes, loser," Murderface said, and stomped off, muttering to himself.
"Ladies, nice to meet you." Charles nodded to them.
"Yeahs, this is the mans I is was sayings to yous abouts."
"Him?" the blond asked. "No way. I don't do nerds. I want to be with you Skwisgaar."
"I knoes, but helps hims not be a virgins no more and yous can be with me laters."
"Alright honey," she said. "I'll do it for you."
"Yous hears that, manager man? You won'ts have to be virgins now." He looked around to find that Charles had left.
"Is ok," he said. "I can have you boths now." The girls seemed happy with this arrangement.
Charles leaned against the wall outside and lit up a cigarette - a good cigarette imported from England. He tried not to smoke too much around the boys, since he was aware of their own drug and alcohol problems. He felt that he needed to be above such things for them. He really needed a cigarette tonight, though.
Even though he knew it was imperitive for them to have certain ideas about him, he didn't like their perspective. Skwisgaars' actions were annoying, but they were mild in comparison with their normal activities, so he decided to let the humiliating incident go.
He took a long drag on the cigarette and relaxed a bit. He'd hear when they began to go nuts, and then he would go in and coral them.
A man stepped out of the door and leaned against the wall near Charles. A pale blue prison tat marked his arm. It was a faded flower, or four leaf clover. Charles couldn't tell; it was too old and hairy. Ofdensen was instantly alert. His highly trained senses told him this man was far too tense to be up to anything good.
"Got one for me buddy?" he asked.
Charles was annoyed. He was actually enjoying having a few moments to himself, and now this guy was going to ruin it.
"Last one," he said.
"That's too bad," the guy said. "That's looks like a real fancy smoke. You look like a real fancy guy. I don't like fancy guys."
Charles just shrugged. He held the cigarette in his hand, ready for what was about to happen. The attack was expected. His attacker made a straight-forward punch that he easily avoided. He made a move to incapacitate the man by taking him out at the knee, but he was surprised to see him duck like a pro. This wasn't right. He realized this was a trap and ducked out of instinct right as a fist caught him on the back of his head. His reaction kept him from being knocked unconscious, but his knees buckled under him from the impact.
His glasses flew off and the world became a fuzzy haze. The man behind him caught him by the arms and let the first attacker slug him in the stomach. He grunted and bent over, allowing the man the opportunity to knee him in the face. His nose crunched, and he heard a laugh.
Charles kicked his forward attacker, which pushed the manager away with enough force to knock him into the one who held him from behind. The man stumbled backward, releasing his hold on Charles. Charles struck behind himself forcefully, hitting the man in the throat with his elbow, and was satisfied with the feel and sound of bones breaking. He heard a gurgle and a quick gaze showed him his attacker was lying on the ground.
The cigarette borrower tackled him full-body in the stomach, sending them both backwards onto the hard concrete. He was moving to get out from under and regain his footing when he felt a blinding pain in his arm. Pain lanced through the right side of his body.
His body refused to respond anymore. He tried to will his legs to move, to strike his opponent, but any slight movement resulted in incapacitating pain. The man above him took the opportunity to grab him by the hair and smash his face several times with his fist.
A man shaped blob stepped out from his concealment behind the building. "Stop," he commanded, and the man stepped away from Charles and faded into the darkness. Charles lay there holding his bleeding arm and trying to stay conscious. He tried to focus on the man, but the best he could see was that he was dressed in gray. His astigmatism and near-sightedness prevented any useful observations.
"That was a warning. You are to scale back Deathklock's influence or the next time will be fatal. We are watching you Ofdensen." Charles could be delusional, but he could have sworn the man simply vanished.
The adrenaline is his system faded, and he blacked out. When he awoke he needed a few minutes to orient himself. Several scenarios passed though his head before he remembered the skuzzy nightclub and the fight. He tried to sit up and failed, landing against the concrete with a sharp pain in his arm. After a few more tries he managed to work his way to the wall, which he used to support himself as he made his way to the door. The bouncers were mysteriously gone - probably either bribed or dead.
He tried to remember the layout of the club, but all he could see was the giant blob of moving colors that was the mob in the club. He heard Pickles distinctive voice off to his left, slurred and loud. He ignored that voice, because Pickles would be less than useless in this situation.
He heard Murderface's lisp, and glanced in that direction to see a flesh-colored blob on a table. Great, he thought. The pants are off again.
"Wooo," Murderface yelled. "Pee pee time." Charles smelled urine. At least Murderface was distracting the crowd from noticing him. He was glad it was a dimly lit place. That helped him conceal himself a bit. He felt blood running down his arm and leg onto the floor, and he had to use the wall to hold him up. He really needed to find Nathan quickly. He was the smartest one in the band, which wasn't saying much. He was the best fighter, though, and Charles knew he could depend on him to get them to the Deathlimo.
He felt dizzy, and slid down the wall to rest for a few minutes. He knew better, knew that he probably wouldn't be able to get up again, but right now his body wasn't listening to his brain very well. Blood pooled around him.
A rough hand shook him by his good shoulder. "Dude, you alright? How much did you drink?" Charles had never been so glad to hear Nathans grumbling voice in his association with the man.
"Actually, I had an altercation outside, and I think I got stabbed."
"Brutal," Nathan said. "I'll get the guys."
He slung the manager over his back, and the movement caused his arm to bang against Nathan. He gasped at the pain.
"Hey guys," Nathan yelled. "It's time to go. Murderface, find your pants. Toki, Skwisgaar, come one. Where's Pickles?"
"He's ons the bilyardes tables," Skwisgaar. "What's wrong with the manager man?"
"He got in a fight," Nathan said.
"He got in fights?" Toki said. "I didn't thinks he hows to knows fights."
"Uh," Nathan grunted. "Get Pickles. Charles is bleeding. We need to get home."
"We should moves hims to hopitatlities maybe?" Skwisgaar asked. "He's all whites and deads lookings."
Nathan frowned. "I don't know. I just want to get home. Come on."
Charles felt himself being settled none too gently into the seat of the limo between Nathan and Toki, and he wished Nathan understood his own strength just a bit. He heard Toki whisper," do you think the bleedings is contagions?" before he passed out.
As they rode home, Charles woke up several times to see Nathan leaning over him. Nathan never said anything; he just stared with a look of concentration.
He woke up in his own bed hooked up to an IV filled with blood. Charles felt that one of the worst situations was when he woke up in hospitals alone. He always made sure that when the boys were injured he was there if at all possible. On the multiple occasions that he was protecting them and couldn't be present he always arranged for at least a Klokatter to be nearby. No one should ever wake up alone in a hospital, in his opinion. He didn't blame them for their thoughtlessness, though. It wasn't their fault they were who they were. They were probably planning or exacting revenge, if they weren't distracted by arcade games or inane discussions about Doritos or who played better guitar.
The door opened and a Klokateer stepped in. "My Lord Explosion ordered me to tell him when you woke up," he said and left.
Charles was touched. The boys didn't even know he wasn't their butler, and Nathan was taking care of him, albeit in an indirect manner. His fondness for them increased.
Nathan came in and stood by the bed.
"Yeah, um, I glad you didn't die or nothing. Don't do that again," Nathan said. He stared at the injured man for at least two uncomfortable minutes and left.
A nurse arrived and hooked up a fresh IV bag. "You lost a lot of blood," she said. "You're nose is broken, and you've got a nasty stab wound on the upper arm. We had to dig part of a knife tip out, too. You'll be on bed-rest for awhile."
She left soon after, and Charles was left with his thoughts. If he couldn't run their empire, he knew they'd flounder without him.
Nathan came in the next morning. "When can you work again?" he asked. "I know we don't listen much, but it's so boring. We need you to do that stuff."
"Nathan, what happened?"
"Why do you think something bad happened? We didn't start fires or nothing."
Charles shifted a bit to get a better look at the singer. "How bad was the fire?"
"Well, Murderface burned his cock some. And there was some stuff burnt, and a lot of furniture."
"How did the fire start?" he asked, more out of curiosity than any other reason. Part of why he liked working here was he was never bored with these guys. They were a whole world in themselves.
"Toki and Skwisgaar were seeing who could hold a match the longest, and Pickles lit Murderface's guitar on fire, which caught his cock on fire, cause he was playing the guitar with it."
"I didn't know a phallus could burn," Charles said.
"Well, he'd been drinking a lot," Nathan said.
He'd learned a long time ago that protesting that something didn't make sense was purposeless in this zoo they called a home. Deathklok wasn't entirely natural, and supernatural happenings or defiance of physics was a daily occurrence.
"He's in the hospital," Nathan added.
"Alright. Take the matches away from the boys and hide them. Also, make sure they don't get sulky and try to do any arson. If fire is their latest obsession it's better to take it away until they get distracted. Nathan, are you listening?"
Nathan was staring at the IV. "Blood bag…body tag…old hag…jet lag," he muttered.
"Never mind. Just bring me the matches and lighters, ok?"
"Huh," Nathan said, pulled out of his reverie. "Yeah, yeah, I'll do that, right after I figure out a good rhyme for blood bag. I like the sound of blood bag."
"I need to rest now."
"Ok, I might, um, come see you later, for manager stuff. It's not like I care or anything. Carings not metal."
"Of course not," Ofdensen said. Nathan left and Charles settled into a pain-pill induced slumber. He drifted off thinking that even if he couldn't say it, Nathan did care, and that meant the world to him.