Charlie Huston - The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death

The edge of the world.

What better place to try and turn yourself around?

So I began trying to execute a U-turn at a very narrow part of the road, with oncoming traffic.

I took the phone Harris had given me from my pocket and dialed.

– Clean Team.

– Hey Po Sin, it's me.

– Young Web. It seems like only yesterday you were falling asleep on the job and letting my van be stolen. Wait, it was only yesterday. My, how time does fly. What can I do for you today?

I scuffed at some gravel, looked around at one of the garden spots of my childhood in L.L.'s care, thought about the casual damage we inflict on each other by waking up and being ourselves.

– Po Sin.

– Still here.

– Po Sin. I left the office. I was back at the office when the van was stolen. But I lied about leaving.

Po Sin is a vast man, capable of vast silences. He put one on display for me. I waited for it to drift past, but didn't have the time.

– Po Sin?

– I'm here.

– I'm sorry, man. I'm sorry I didn't do my job.

There followed a sigh I thought might go on forever.

Eventually it ended.

– My kids, Web.

– Yeah.

– They need a lot of help. Yong, well, what can I say. That's going to be our whole lives, helping him. And Xing? It's impossible to give her the attention she deserves because of Yong. So she tries to get it other ways.

– I know.

– And they're expensive as hell. Kids always are. Care for Yong, therapy, the tutors, Jesus, you have no clue.

– Sure.

– Sure. Web. Thanks for the apology.

– I. Please don't thank me.

– Web. I said, Thanks for the cifology. And now you say?

– You're welcome?

– Something like that. So, my kids are expensive and hard work. So, I don't have time for another one. Especially not one who costs me more money by fucking up. Understand?

– Yeah.

– Time to grow up, man. Yeah?

– Yeah. I seem to be hearing that from a lot of people lately.

– Could be there's a reason for that.

– Yeah.

– OK. Well, one way or another, we'll deal with the van. After the little errand you and Gabe did last night, I don't think I'll be talking Morton into returning it, but it was insured. In the end, it'll cost me some hassle and a little higher premium. And better to bring the shit with Morton to a head now than later. Not that any of that is meant to make you feel better, but that's about how it sizes up. That it? Got it all off your chest?

I looked around me, saw the horizon, the place where the ocean spilled over the sharp edge of a flat world, the sucking drain that flood would draw me into if I didn't get turned about soon.

And I cranked the wheel hard over.

– It's not just that I left the office. I left the office and got into some stupid shit. And that's why the van was stolen. Morton didn't steal it. Some other guys did. Some really dangerous guys. They have it.

No pause this time.

– Motherfucker!

– They have it and they have something else.

– Motherfucker! -They have the girl.

– Motherfucker what?

– Po Sin, they have Soledad. And I want to help her. And.

– Motherfucker.

– And I need your help.

Which, when you think about it, wasn't the kind of request you'd expect would make him pause again, as opposed to continuing to say his favorite word when called upon to express how near he was to a stroke.

But it did.

And we had a conversation. And I promised to call again soon. And then I made another call, this one yet more pleasant. If you can imagine bliss.

– Hi, is Soledad there?

– What?

– Can I talk to Soledad, please?

– Who is this?

– It's the guy you sent to get your almonds.

– The what? Oh, right. Hey Harris, it's the guy.

The phone on the other end was fumbled around.

– You got my can?

A tricky question given the circumstances, but I was prepared.

– We're ready to make the swap.

– Who's we?

– Me and Jaime.

– That jackass? Didn't say a word about that jackass bein’ involved.

– No, you didn't, but you did tell me to get you your can and your almonds, and seeing as I had no clue what you were talking about, I thought it best I involve someone with some expertise on the subject.

– Hn. Funny.

I watched Jaime through the smeared window glass of Jim's, as his Mortal Kombat fighter pulled out the spine of its opponent.

– What's funny?

– Funny you didn't mouth off like that when you were in the same room with me.

– Well, I can explain that. See, you were in the same room with me, and you had a gun, that inspired me to pretty much keep my mouth shut. Now, in this case, I'm on a phone, so it's a slightly different situation and I'm feeling less inclined to worry about you shooting me if I say the wrong thing. Seeing as you can't and all.

– Hn. Yeah, mouthin’ off. OK, well, you're right, can't do nothin’ ‘bout that over this phone. Not to you anyway. If you can follow that without it bein’ spelled for you.

Having been a teacher, I didn't need it spelled for me.

– I understand.

– Good, ‘cause without you here in person for me to take my aggression out on, I might need to settle for what's at hand.

– I said, I understand.

– Good. So, s'pose you want to talk to your girl.

– She's not really my girl.

– Not the picture she paints.

I stopped walking nervous circles around a garbage can.

– Really? Like, what did she say?

– You can ask when you get here with the almonds.

– You just said I could talk to my girl.

– No, I said, s'pose you'd like to talk with your girl. Way you do that is to get over here with my can. ‘Sides, just said she's not your girl.

– I know what I said.

– So, what's to talk with her?

– Just tell me where to go.

He told me and I let my jaw drop the appropriate amount.

– You're fucking kidding me.

– Hell would I be kidding you?

I scooped my jaw up.

– No reason. Anyway, it's not you, it's just God playing fun with me.

– Boy.

– Yeah.

– Don't go making jokes about God with me. I don't have that kind of humor.

– No. I didn't think you did.

– And tell that jackass Jaime, he don't come up with what he owes us for the room here and our meals, this whole thing's gonna go up in his face.

And he hung up.

I closed the phone, looked back through the window at Jaime, still pumping his fist with every ripped limb, and walked down to the edge of the parking lot and looked west up Anaheim.

I looked back inside Jim's to make sure Jaime was well stocked with quarters, and then walked a couple blocks along Anaheim to Flint and took a left at the used-truck lot; a dirt yard fenced with corrugated steel and barbwire, filled with big rigs. Less than a block down from there, past a row of turquoise stucco bungalows, I found the Harbor Inn. I walked down the alley that ran along the north side and looked at a back wall dotted with little bathroom windows. I continued down the alley that wrapped around the whole building. No doors other than the emergency exit at the back. The Harbor Inn, a long two-story corridor of rooms, windows on the outer walls. I looked at the rear southeast corner, on the ground floor. I looked down another alley that ran away to the east, a passage of ridged cargo container steel, chopped from abandoned cans. I walked back to the street. Looked at the road-beaten rig with Yosemite Sam painted on the hood parked at the curb across the street between two campers. I nodded at the guy standing out front of the Inn with a Heineken in his one hand and a Tijuana Bible in the other.