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

The first thing I noticed about holding a gun for the first time in my life was that the damn thing was heavy. The second thing was that shaking it and just kind of handling it didn't make any noise like it does in the movies and on TV where you'd swear guns must be full of little tiny moving parts that click and rattle all the time. A real gun only makes noise when you do something to it. Like work the slide or snap the safety off, or pull the trigger. The last thing I realized about a gun was that holding one felt seriously fucking cool and dangerous at the same time. I didn't like that feeling.

I found a button on the side of the gun that was far enough from the trigger to make me feel reasonably secure nothing terrible would happen if I pushed it. I thumbed it in and the end of the clip popped out of the bottom of the grip. I pulled it free, finding more resistance than I expected, and set the gun on the seat. One by one I flicked the bullets from the clip and into the palm of my other hand. Having seen what they do to a body I didn't much want to touch them, but I did. Once the clip was empty I dribbled the shells into the breast pocket of my bowling shirt, and then slipped it back into the gun and pressed until I felt a firm click. I had the gun back in the glove box when I remembered something from one of L.L.'s screenplays. I took the gun out and looked at it. I made sure the little safety lever was firmly set to o, and, taking care to aim the damn thing out the open door of the Apache at the ground away from Jim's or the truck wash or Dreams, I pulled the slide back and watched the bullet Jaime had been stupid enough to keep chambered pop out and arc behind the seat and down into the hollow where Chev stored his tool bag.

– Shit.

I gentled the slide back into place and found that the hammer was cocked. I placed my thumb over it, and, for what I swore would be the only time in my life, I pulled the trigger of a gun. Nothing happened, of course. I mean, there was a snap and the hammer came loose and I lowered it into place, but the gun didn't go off by some weird alignment of having a hidden bullet and my thumb not being strong enough to hold the hammer back or anything like that. But until I put the thing back in the glove box, I kept expecting it to fire of its own will and send a round ricocheting over the parking lot and through a window and into someone else's life.

But that didn't happen. Which was a huge relief.

Next I made a final call to Po Sin and told him what he needed to know. Beyond that information, there seemed to be little excuse for conversation. Especially seeing as he was clearly still contemplating bailing on the whole deal.

I thought it best not to think about what that could mean. And succeeded in doing so. Not thinking about bad things being a gift of mine.

Finally, I got out of the truck and walked to the storm drain in the middle of the lot and dropped the bullets down between the grates to splash into the dirty soapy runoff from the truck wash.

– What's up?

I looked up at Jaime as he came from the diner.

I shrugged.

– Just killing time.

I started back to the truck.

– We should get going.

– Fine by me. Where's my gun?

I got in and knocked on the glove box.

– In there. But for fuck sake don't shoot anyone with it.

He took the gun out.

– Shoot anyone? It's a gun. That's what it's for. I mean, what am I supposed to use with Harris to make him give Soledad back so I can get the fucking money you owe me?

– We don't need a gun, we have a plan.

– Fucking plan? You never told me about a plan. A gun is better than a plan. A gun is a guarantee. What you -planning to do when your flan doesn't work and you need something to persuade Harris to go along?

I took out the envelope with the shipping documents.

– I thought we'd use these.

He grabbed the envelope from me and stuck it in my face.

– Asshole, they seized the terminal. The law has the almonds.

I had a sudden flashback to the classroom. The effort it could take on some days to explain rudimentary principles of the English language to twelve-year-olds.

– Jaime, I know this is an abstract concept, but follow me here. Harris, he doesn't know the almonds were seized.

– Yeah, but.

– Jaime. He. Does. Not. Know. The. Almonds. Were. Seized.

He opened his mouth. Froze. Nodded.

– Yeeeaaah, man. He doesn't know. Yeah, that's good. Hey asshole, that's really fucking good. Great twist, man, great twist.

He slapped the envelope on his thigh.

– Will it work, asshole? Will he take the papers instead of the can?

I stared at him.

– Urn, wasn't this the way it was supposed to work in the first place?

– Well yeah, but I never knew if it'd really work. Think it will?

I thought about the options, couldn't come up with any in particular.

– Yeah, it'll work.

– Well it doesn't work, we got the gat as backup.

– You shouldn't need the gun. All you need to do is stay out of sight.

He gave me a squint.

– What's that stay out of sight shit?

– I'm sure you'll be shocked to discover that Harris doesn't like you.

– Fuck him anyway. Like I like his hick ass.

– Just so. That being the case, I'd rather not have two armed men who hate each other in the same room while I'm negotiating for Soledad's release.

– Man, I got a stake in this.

– Yeah, it's your project, I know. And your stake is guaranteed. What isn't guaranteed is that Harris will deal straight. So if things go off, I want some backup. Follow me?

He cocked an eyebrow and nodded slowly.

– Yeah, backup, I follow. I like that. Buddy cop action. 48 Hours. That works, it sells. And that's it, that's all I got to do to get my pay?

I nodded.

– Yeah. Just stay out of sight, keep your eyes open, make sure no one backdoors me while I'm inside. And be ready in case I call for help.

He gave the gun a spin on his index finger.

– So we do need the gun.

– We don't need the gun. Just be ready in case I need help.

– Be ready with the gun.

– Jaime!

– Chill, chill, I'm just fuckin’ with you. I'll be cool and keep my eyes open and I'll be ready. And that's all, right?

– That and be yourself.

He leaned back and tucked his hands behind his head.

– Bein’ myself is what I do best. Star quality.

He pointed at the keys in my hand.

– So we rolling or what?

I pocketed the keys.

– Naw.

– What, we just gonna sit around here?

I got out and started down the street.

– Nope. We'll walk.

And we did, walked back to the Harbor Inn where the bad guys were holed up waiting for the showdown.

– Where's my girl?

– Where's my can?

I looked at Harris, and I reminded myself about his really big gun and the way he'd used my phone to kill someone. I took into careful account that more was at risk in this motel room than just my miserable existence, and I formulated a response that was calculated to bring calm to a fraught situation.

– Could you shut the fuck up for a second and tell me where my girl is?

I raised a finger.

– Not that I really think she's my girl, I know that was an asinine thing to say, just that I'm a little hyped up right now and some weird things are liable to come out of my mouth.

Harris came across the room and kicked me in the shin and I bent to grab it and he rapped me on the back of my head with the butt of that really big gun I was supposed to be remembering he had.

I curled on the carpet, one hand on the lump growing from my shin, one on the lump growing from the back of my head, white light pulsing at the edges of my vision with every beat of my heart.