Carter's War - 11. Chapter 11

What was he doing there? He should have just done with it and moved on. But he sat at the end of the bar stubbing a cigarette butt into the ashtray and watching the door. The bartender didn't even ask, only walked up and replaced his empty rye and coke with a fresh one. Marc looked down at it, then up at the bartender, a large Asian man with a hearty smile who shrugged at him.

"I took a guess," he said as he began to cut up a lemon. "Vancouver, right?"

Marc frowned at him, "What?"

The bartender gestured to the t-shirt Marc was wearing under his shirt, "BC Lions, football team, right?"

Marc smiled, "Yeah." It was true after a fashion; he had gone there more on a whim a few years back. It had been something new to do with himself, but boredom had forced him to quit, rolling on with his life.

"They had a good team for a while," the bartender continued. "They beat the Argo's in the ninety-eight finals. What brings you to our neck of the woods?"

"Nothing, really," Marc said quietly. "I needed a place to stay."

"Well, it's good to see a new face around here." He introduced himself as Yin, the owner of the bar, and they talked idly for a while about the sand, sun and school. It fascinated Marc to learn that Yin had a degree in engineering but chose instead to open a bar. It was unimaginable for him; people spent much of their lives trying to be better than they were, to reach above their station, and yet he was talking to someone who was content with what he had.

"It's not a bad location," Yin said referring to the small bar tucked just off of Church Street. "I get a lot of good business, a few prostitutes and a lot of drugs," Yin seemed reluctant about the last two, but he wasn't in a position to turn away business, "but people generally leave each other alone. Don't mess with other people's shit and they leave you be, and don't deal on another guy's turf."

Marc shook his head, "I don't deal."

"That's good," Yin said as he moved down to serve another patron before returning. "The local boys don't like competition either, there's been a couple of incidents around here. I want to avoid having cops looking into things."

"Bad for business." A young man in his mid-twenties said as he walked up to the bar. Small but wiry, he gave Marc a once-over as he gestured for a refill on his drink. "What are you doing back here?" he asked a little too harshly.

"Jon." Marc said with a nod. The young man was dressed in a tight tee shirt that showed off his boyish frame, and his hair was cut to make him look younger. He got more business that way; even though he was pushing twenty-five he could probably pass for sixteen.

"Marc," Lucas said, sniffing and brushing his nose as he accepted his drink, "What happened, college boy, couldn't hack it?" He didn't wait for a reply, he simply tipped his glass and wandered back to his table.

Yin rolled his massive shoulders, "Old friend of yours?"

Marc cocked his head to follow Lucas back to his table, taking stock of the boys who lurked there waiting for him. "I see some people just don't change." he observed.

Yin nodded, "Yeah, he's a local boy, works this bar and a couple of others in the area. He has a few regulars, does good business and always drops a lot of cash." Yin shrugged helplessly, and Marc could see he didn't like the fact that his bar was dependent on boys working the game, but it paid the bills.

"Business good?" Marc asked as he put his drink down on the bar.

Yin shook his head, "That's a cop question." He smiled, "There's a decent crowd that come in here. It's hit or miss though, what you do is up to you. That is if you're looking to make a quick buck, just don't get caught." Yin grunted as he leaned on the bar, "You sticking about, Marc?"

Marc looked up, "I'm thinking about it."

Yin nodded, "Then don't piss them off." He looked over at the local boys, "It's not him you have to worry about, but he's got connections."

"They always do," Marc replied lifting his glass in Lucas's direction. The young man stared at him with angry resentment as he returned the gesture continuing to talk to his boys across the bar.

"'s'okay." Marc said draining his glass and getting up, "I should be getting home anyway."

Yin nodded to him, offering a small smile, "Good luck."

Marc offered a small smile and shrugged, "Whatever, see ya around." He sauntered towards the doors, tossing small salute over at the local boys as he went. He had never liked Jon, Jon had never liked him. Too much history there, history Marc didn't feel like bringing up again.

"You're leaving?" a desperate sounding voice asked. "Don't go."

Marc turned to the old man; he was in his late forties, dressed reasonably well and looking nervous. But then they always looked nervous and Marc found himself slipping back into his old routine almost on instinct. "I could be persuaded to stay."

The man shifted and looked back at the bar where Yin was watching the negotiation with interest. "C-can I buy you a drink?"

Marc considered it and made a reluctant gesture, "I was just about to go."

"A-are you working?" the man licked his lips, beginning to sweat. This was always the dangerous part, the part where one or the other would say yes, no, or pull out a badge.

"Depends," Marc replied. "You buying?" In his own mind he was arguing with himself, but he had long ago learned how to ignore that little voice in the back of his head that screamed at him that this was wrong. He was almost out of money; whatever this man could afford would go a long way to easing his situation.

"How much?" the man asked, a little too insistently; he licked his lips, his eyes travelling down over Marc suggestively, hungrily drinking in the attractive young man. It made Marc feel dirty, and he felt that voice in the back of his head getting louder.

"Look," Marc said reaching his decision, "not tonight..." he turned to leave again.

"A hundred," the man said, reaching into his wallet and producing the bill.

Marc stopped, turning back and looking at the bill gripped in the man's sweaty hand. "I don't do penetration," he said, transfixed by the outstretched money.

"That's ok," the man said waving the bill enticingly.

Marc's shoulders sagged, "Ok."

* * *

Marc dug his hands into his pockets as he waited for a subway train, the crisp hundred-dollar bill tucked into his pocket. That was a night's work in one trick; he couldn't say no to that, he hadn't said no to it. And in his mind he tried to rationalize what he had just done.

There was no rationalizing it outside of that bill. And Marc scrubbed a hand down his face as the battered subway car rolled to a stop to let him on. His mind spun, and he fell into the seat, pressing his forehead against the glass and watching the blackness of the tunnel sweep past as it rocketed its way back to Scarborough.

He hated himself, but he couldn't turn down money. He just had to forget about it, move on. He had the money he needed and that was all that mattered. But he found his thoughts drifting to Will, what would he say if he found out, what would Libbet say? Again the confusion rose and he was lost in a wave of guilt.

Better to just not show up for the date tomorrow.