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

Harris pointed at Soledad.

– You need to go?

She shook her head.

He pointed at Jaime.

– You?

He furrowed his brow.

– Uh.

– Ain't something most people have to think about, jackass.

Jaime shook his head.

– No, no, I don't have to go.

– OK, well, from here on out, everyone's holding it.

Harris settled and put his hand back behind his head.

– Talbot. Know what you need to know ‘bout that boy? Other than his teeth were gray from snorting crank and his hair was fallin’ out and his skin was yellow and his nose was collapsin’ in on itself? What else you need to know about Talbot was his car. Boy had this car, eighty-eight or eighty-nine Toyota or Honda or one of them other Jap cars all look the same. Had that car awhile. Know how long? Ten years. Had that car ten years. Know how he got it? Stole it. Boosted it off the street in Humbolt. Went there to score some grass and came back with some college kid's car. Used to brag on that car all the time. Stole this car ten years ago and I'm still drivin'it. You believe that shit? Ten years in the same hot car and I ain't been busted. Bet I drive this car twenty years before they bust me for it. Cops so fuckiri stupid, had me pulled over twice since I stole it and they ain't busted me for the hot car I'm in.

He shook his head.

– Said that. Said, Bet I drive this car twenty years before they bust me for it. Never occurred to him to maybe unload the damn thing before they arrested him. He just figured you steal a car, you drive it till you get caught. Whoever drives his longest wins. ‘Course, six of those ten years he bragged about he was inside for dealin'. That was before his habit got so bad he couldn't be trusted by no one to deal. Anyhow, that's about all you need to know about Talbot. Boy was an albatross the whole season.

– Web.

– Some farmer's leavin’ a stack of irrigation pipe at the same southwest corner of a citrus orchard for a week, we hear about it from one of his wetbacks and send Talbot with a couple hands to pick it up. He comes back with a truckload of PVC. Ask him, Where's the fife, he points at the plastic in the truck. That he don't even know the points of the compass to find the right corner is one thing.

– Web.

– But that he can't tell between PVC and steel is another.

– Web.

The legs of his chair came down.

– Boy, will you acknowledge the girl, for peace sake?

I rubbed my shin where he'd kicked me.

– I don't want to talk to her.

She clapped her hands to her head.

– Why? What the hell did I do?

I pulled up my pant leg and looked at the big purple lump.

– She knows what she did.

– No, I don't, I really don't!

I looked at Harris.

– She so knows what she did.

She got up.

– What I did? What I did? What I did was like you! What I did was need someone to hold me.

She came across the room at me.

– What I did was fuck you and have you freak out in the morning and I walked outside when you told me to get away from you and got kidnapped by the Oakridge Boys!

Harris leaned forward in his seat.

– Settle down now.

– You fucked asshole?

We looked at Jaime, still wedged between the bed and the wall, but newly roused from the nap he'd been taking.

She stuck a finger in my face.

– Yes, I did. And it was nice. And I needed it. And I thought he was cool and safe. But he's acting like every asshole I've ever fucked, by turning into a dick now that he's gotten some.

Harris knocked on the table.

– Said settle down.

Jaime flipped me off.

– Knew you were an asshole.

I raised my hands.

– Hey hey I tried to talk you out of it.

– Oh yeah, you tried so hard!

I got off the bed.

– I did! I did! I knew it was screwed up and I tried, but you were all over me.

– All over you! OK, sure, I was all over you. But I. Shit. I. Oh, Web.

– Settle down!

Harris grabbed her by the hair and swung her around and slapped her and shoved her face down onto the carpet. Jaime started to push up from between the bed and wall and Harris planted his heel in the back of Soledad's neck and Jaime dropped back to the floor.

I didn't move.

Not being used to violence happening around me until recently, I didn't have a chance to move. But that didn't make Harris any more reluctant about planting the barrel of his revolver under my chin.

The barrel of a gun, it's cold to the touch.

I felt a vibration down that cold steel barrel as he cocked the hammer and the cylinder rotated and a live round slid into alignment with my brain. He pushed up and brought my eyes to his.

– Do you know why you are alive?

Well, there are questions and there are questions, yes? Sometimes you get asked the same question you've been asking yourself for a year. So you have the answer right there at your fingertips.

As did I.

– Man, I do not. I really don't.

He chucked my chin with the barrel.

– You are alive to clean up the mess after I kill these two. Because you have screwed me over.

A radio switched on and Waylon Jennings started singing "Lonesome, On'ry and Mean."

Harris let a few bars play.

– Come with me.

He backed toward the table, the gun still under my chin, and I came along with him, hoping he wouldn't trip. He reached back for his cellphone, felt for it, opened it and the song stopped playing.

– Hello?

Behind his sealed lips, Harris ran his tongue over his teeth.

– And?

He listened for a bit, nodded a little.

– See you then.

He took the phone away, snapped it shut.

– Hn.

The cold barrel came away from my skin.

– Back up.

I did.

He pointed at the bed.

I sat.

He nodded.

– Well, can was there, ready to roll. And he is rollin'. Which, I have to say, that is an interesting turn of events.

He started to bring the gun back up.

– Not that it really changes much for you all.

The door swung open and Mr. Big Ten Four crashed through and stumbled into the wall next to the bathroom door and left a bloodstain when his battered face slapped against it. Harris twisted, the barrel of the gun rotating away from us and toward his partner.

– What the hell?

Mr. Big Ten Four slid down the wall, streaking blood, one arm out, pointing toward the door. Harris continued to swivel, bringing the gun around, looking for the threat.

But by the time he got there and faced the door, Po Sin was inside it, the pistol that had looked so big in Gabe's hand the night before looking like a toy in his own.

– Motherfucker.

Harris didn't move.

Po Sin took another step inside.

– Motherfucker, don't point that gun at me.

Harris didn't move.

Po Sin put out a hand and shoved the door closed.

– Motherfucker, I am a tempting target, but do not point that gun at me.

Harris didn't move.

And then Harris took Po Sin's advice and did not point the gun at him. Instead, he twisted ‘round and pointed it at Soledad on the floor.

– Anyone does any damn thing and I'm gonna do the obvious.

Po Sin's lower lip swallowed his upper.

– Motherfucker.

Here's the thing about witnessing something truly awful.

It sucks.

Here's the thing about witnessing a small child being shot in the side of her face and having most of the rest of her face smeared on your clothes and covering her body with yours because some part of your brain has registered the fact that she has been hit by a bullet and you suddenly find out that you are more than willing to have the next bullet hit and kill you if it means that she'll not be harmed any further.