Desperate Times

Harvey had changed his entire lifestyle to suit his ex. 
He hadn't wanted the luxury apartment or the townhouse that he broke the apartment lease to obtain. He regretted those choices. 
Especially since the woman had then used the townhouse to cheat on him with her wealthy ex-husband. 
Harvey needed to get away.
He also needed: money, a place to stay, daily basics, and some peace of mind.
 He had spent the last three nights in his GMC Sierra extended cab.
 It was not a comfortable sleep for a man his size. 
He hadn't been able to pick up any bodyguard work, it was a difficult thing to jump in and out of.
Clubs that once paid $250 per night, were now paying a bunch of "big for nothing" rookies $10 per hour. 
What a crock. 
His reputation alone was worth double that. 
"Pride cometh before a crash!" 
His last foster father's words echoed inside his stubble coated bald head. 
"Fuck I might have to take that short money!" 
He thought as He sucked in a mouthful of toxins.
He stubbed out his cigarette and made his way to the temp agency door.
Harvey spotted the rarest of all human beings, a ginger black man standing by the door. 
He knew him. 
David.
Harvey had been paid to drive the man with the receding, auburn, hairline all over the U.S.
 It was not an experience that he wanted to repeat.
 David smoked crack. 
His habit was so bad, that his employer had paid Harvey to keep him out of trouble.
 $400 a week plus expenses. 
Those expenses included Hotel, food, cigarettes, and the occasional prostitute.
The employer, knew about David's usage, in-depth, and knew for a fact that he couldn't be trusted to care for the company card. 
Before Harvey could push past him, David said;
 "It's not me you'd be chauffeuring around! I don't want any problems." 
The man was attempting to keep the peace, he feared Harvey because Harvey had stopped a rental car in the middle of the George Washington bridge and told him.
"Bruh I will beat your ass. I'm done. I'm going back to the A right fucking now!"  
Harvey had intended to never lay eyes on this dude, ever again. However, he did need a place to stay. I

Harvey sat in Tom Whitfield 's minuscule office across from the man himself.
 The most backward, technology resistant, tight-fisted, stuck in the 70's business model, ancient person he'd ever encountered Tom Whitfield.
 Tom was offering less money than he had before because it was his personal vehicle that Harvey would be using. 
Harvey wasn't quite sold.
He still needed to meet Walter, the guy he would be driving around. 
If he was another David then no way. 
Whitfield stood beside Harvey as he grabbed his already packed bags out of his 12-year-old truck. 
At that moment a 1984 kidnapping special pulled in the crowded parking lot.
It was the original kidnapping van, the one with the small round window. 
Harvey felt what he jokingly referred to as Star Wars-ish, he loved the running line. 
"I've got a bad feeling about this." 

He was going to give Walt a chance, mostly because he was homeless right now. 
The man who disembarked from the driver's seat looked like the neighborhood Santa.
 Like the kindly old grandpa who you could trust around your kids.
The monster that Tom Whitfield had described in his office was nowhere in evidence. Harvey couldn't imagine this older southern gentleman stealing company cars, or wrecking a rental in a high-speed chase with police.
This guy looked like, he had been in rehab. Like he had promised Tom Whitfield. 
Harvey figured Tom was wrong about the man.  
Harvey had taken a hundred dollar advance and purchased some luggage from Goodwill, and hit the dollar store circuit for hygienic products and other necessities. Walter refused to take Tom's money. He warned Harvey against it too.
 "Don't take that old fucker's money." 
 Was the way that he said it. It surprised Harvey to hear him curse.
Walt seemed to be able to get all he needed quickly. 
He was gauging Harvey the entire time, and when they got back in the "company car” Walt decided to spill the beans.
" Look I've been in the VA hospital, not no fucking rehab. I've got cancer and anit shit they can do. I am dying. So I do what I like. I smoke crack. I don't just smoke crack I'm a crackhead." 
Harvey had never heard anyone call themselves a crackhead before.
"I'm not like David. I won't steal from you or Whitfield. I have my own way of making money and if you just drive me around, the shit Tom fucking Whitfield, is already paying you for,  I'll pay you too." 
Walt winked at Harvey.
 Harvey had felt that David had stolen from him, and had come off the road because of it. 
"Let me show you what I do because I want some crack right now! If you don't agree with it I'll give you half of what I make and you can go tell Tom's evil ass you can't do it." 
At Walt's behest, Harvey located a Mexican restaurant and watched Walt walk in and then moments later walk out, carrying a three-headed gumball machine and apologizing profusely to the restraunteer. 
Walt threw the machine into the back seat and opened the back.
 He poured the quarters into a bag that read U.S.M.C. The branch of the military Walt had served in.
 One more stop, this time at a Chinese eatery, yielded more quarters. 
Harvey felt that Walt was a fool, this might support a $20 - $40 per day habit, but there's no way that it was making real money. 
"Let's find a coin machine" 
Walt said.
The receipt read $487, the grandfatherly crack addict handed Harvey two crispy $100 bills, two $20's and a $5. Harvey was sold.
He was willing to take this guy anywhere. 
"Can we go get some crack?"  
Harvey didn't mind. 
That's when Walt started telling jokes.
"What do ya call a deer that wears glasses?"
Harvey shook his soon to be freshly shaved head. 
His deep voice replied:
" I don't know Walt, what do you call a deer that wears glasses? " 
"A bad eye deer!" He slapped himself on the leg and unabashedly laughed at his own joke. "What do ya call a deer with no eyes?" 
It was going to be a long ride but Harvey knew it would be worth it.