As stated in earlier chapters:

1- Tony Vincent is the one and only Saint Jimmy

2- These characters are not my creation. I just love them.

NOW YOU'RE COMING UNGLUED

Whatshername's Point of View

The next night found me, to my great displeasure, in the same club where I had spoken to Saint Jimmy the night before.

Several of the other employees of the restaurant where I waitressed wanted to go out for drinks after a particularly hectic day, and since I had been personally invited by Jakob, the very attractive assistant manager, I thought it would be very stupid of me to refuse.

Being less than two blocks away from the restaurant, that club was the natural choice. I went along anyway, deciding that the likelihood of bumping into Saint Jimmy two nights in a row was quite small.

Once again, the music was good and the beer was cheap. Now, the atmosphere was made even better by the presence of Jakob, who seemed to be a very nice gentleman. We talked amiably about music and movies for some time- he had good taste in both areas.

All thoughts of Jakob and his interesting assessment of Shutter Island flew from my mind, however, as I heard a voice cry out, "Yeah, Saint Jimmy!"

I turned around to see one of Jimmy's most loyal fans, a confused young man called Theo, egging Jimmy on as he danced provocatively on a table. Try as I might to forget the scene unfolding mere yards away from me, I couldn't help but notice that Jimmy looked even more disheveled than he had the night before.

Reminding myself that Saint Jimmy was no concern of mine and that I felt nothing but ill will toward him, I resumed my conversation with Jakob. Minutes later, however, a loud crash brought my attention back to Jimmy's corner of the room.

In his very drunken state, he had managed to overturn the table on which he had been dancing, sending both it and himself to the floor in a jumbled heap.

"Seriously, Jimmy? What the hell?"

"Do you know him?" asked Jakob curiously.

Dammit, I hadn't meant to say that out loud! I decided to just be honest; Jakob seemed like a pretty cool guy. "Yeah, unfortunately." There. That was honest without being too revealing, and it made it clear that my association with Jimmy was not anything I particularly enjoyed.

"Maybe you should go over there?" my companion suggested, attempting to be helpful.

"He's fine," I said confidently. "Look". Sure enough, Jimmy was on his feet again, dancing in a vaguely indecent manner with two girls who could scarcely be considered dressed. It didn't escape my notice, however, that the way he was sandwiched between them made it unnecessary for him to try to hold himself upright.

Soon, our conversation drifted back to other topics and I almost managed to forget that Saint Jimmy was getting smashed on the other side of the room. When Jakob offered to walk me home, I left with him, not sparing a glance for the half-conscious man now sprawled across the pool table.

I told myself that my return to the club the following night was due to sick curiosity. I only stayed about ten minutes, long enough to see the unshakeable Saint Jimmy fall to the floor in a fit of hysterical giggles brought on by the needle he was pressing into his thin arm.

The night after that, however, I knew I could no longer justify my actions with the excuse of curiosity. Jimmy's behavior had freaked me out. Since the day I met him, I never had never seen his façade weaken. Night after night of hard partying had never seemed to catch up with him. Groupies came, went, died, overdosed, whatever; it had never even phased him.

Now, he could barely stand up from all the drugs flooding his body. His impeccable appearance was flawed, wrinkled, and chipped.

I wondered briefly if whatever was happening had to do with Johnny, but dismissed the thought quickly. Johnny meant nothing to Saint Jimmy; he only cared about his drugs and himself. Like I had told Johnny so many times, he was no more than Jimmy's latest toy, which he would use until it broke, then throw it away.

Whatever the cause of Jimmy's downward spiral, however, I found myself wanting to snap him out of it. I knew he hated me and didn't think sitting him down for a friendly chat was a very good idea. Not knowing what else to do, I simply returned to the club each night to check on the crazed drug dealer.

Never before had I seen Jimmy stumble or fall. Never had I seen him stare into blank space for minutes at a time or collapse in a fit of laughter brought on by nothing at all. Never had I thought him capable of actually blacking out, speaking nonsense, or falling to the floor unconscious. Over the course of the week and a half that I visited the club on Jimmy's behalf, I witnessed all of these things. To say it scared me was an understatement.

At first it concerned me that none of his little fans had noticed anything wrong with their "Saint". But after a few days, I came to two possible conclusions: One- He was giving them more drugs to keep them oblivious or Two- As long as he kept them high and entertained, they didn't really give a shit about his wellbeing. I wasn't sure which one of these theories disturbed me more.

Either way, I felt with growing certainty that I had been grossly misjudging Saint Jimmy in my former assessments of him. Something was eating up the "Jimmy" underneath the "Saint" persona and I was sure that if it didn't stop soon, it would destroy him completely.

I sat at the bar one night, sipping a beer and watching Jimmy discreetly when someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was one of my fellow waitresses, who had come out for a night of relaxation after a double shift. We chatted for a while before her boyfriend showed up and dragged her onto the club's crowded dance floor. It was after ten o'clock and anyway, Jimmy had managed to vanish while my back was turned. I left.

The narrow alley behind the club served as an excellent shortcut between it and my apartment building, so I slipped out the service entrance as usual. But unlike most nights, I had the distinct impression that there was someone else in the alley.

A soft groan issued from the general vicinity of the dumpster. I approached cautiously, fishing around in my purse for the little can of mace I always carried.

Saint Jimmy stood propped up in the corner made by the dumpster meeting the brick wall. I watched him anxiously, remaining in the shadows even though his eyes were tightly closed. After several minutes, I decided that I should just retreat as quietly as possible and go on home.

But just as I took my first step away from the dumpster, Jimmy's thin frame lurched forward violently and he threw up on the already filthy pavement. Cringing, I stepped toward him, determined to do something, even if it was as simple and meaningless as holding him steady as the next wave of nausea hit.

I stopped less than two feet away from him, my arm outstretched. Obviously, Jimmy needed help and it seemed like I was going to have to be the one to offer it. But this probably wasn't the best moment to call a truce and explain that I was now on his side. No, having me show up during this breakdown so complete that he had even gone outside to hide it from his lackeys would only make him hate me more.

And so I left the great Saint Jimmy puking behind a dumpster, wordlessly promising him that I would intervene at the next possible moment.

Poor Saint Jimmy has finally reached his breaking point and Whatshername is at least trying to be helpful. You see, she's not a bad person, just… not very patient or understanding at times.

So, how am I doing? Makes sense? In character? My first thought was that Jimmy's meltdown was OOC, but in the real story he shoots himself in the head. Obviously, Jimmy has some serious inner turmoil. (And that's the beauty of his character.)

Enough about my own thoughts on Jimmy. Feedback? Please?