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

The thing about that is that it hurts when the next bullet doesn't come.

You end up thinking about it a lot. When you're not thinking about that second bullet, the one you knew might come, and therefore could do something about, you are actually, in point of fact, still thinking about it. You don't really think about anything else.

Some of your brain, in order to keep you focused on things it needs you to do, like breathing and eating and such, builds little facades to place over the surface of the world. Perfectly detailed overlays that mimic the world you lived in before you had little girl face on your clothes. Illusions as painstakingly crafted as the relic Old West street fronts on studio back lots. Scrims of normalcy that keep you walking and talking and breathing and eating.

And because that's what you perceive, the hyper reality you inhabit, it's the behavior of everyone around you that seems out of sync.

I'm OK, man. What the hell is everyone else's problem? Why is everyone acting so weird?

But some other part of your brain knows it's a fake. And knows, as well, who is responsible for the fake. And knows that you can't keep existing in a fake world propped on wobbly jack-stands in front of the real.

Sooner or later a stiff wind will come and blow it down on top of you.

That part of the brain sends out messages, bits of code meant to remind you of what's behind the sets. Scrawled missives.

Don't get comfortable. This all has to come down someday. Don't open that door, there's nothing behind iti

The gap between those two parts of the brain is dark and deep. Narrow, but wide enough by some inches to fall into and be lost.

But you're not thinking about any of that. The two worlds you're walking in are just background to one thing, one thought carved into endless variation.

Where is that second bullet?

And when is it going to hit me?

And make me useful again?

Always you're looking, whether you know it or not, for that opportunity, that chance to do it over again. A dream that will never come true. A shot at taking the bullet.

And saving the innocent girl.

Or a girl not so innocent.

I looked at the gun pointing at Soledad.

Heartbeat.

And I got off the bed.

Heartbeat.

And I laid my body over hers.

Heartbeat.

– Boy.

I looked up at Harris.

He centered the gun on my back.

– This thing is plenty big to go through the both of you.

– Web.

Soledad had twisted her face out of her armpit.

I tried to smile at her, but expect I grimaced.

– Hey.

– Web, did you just pee on me?

– Yeah.

– Thought you were pee shy in front of girls.

– I kind of got terrified out of it.

Harris snapped his fingers.

– You, Chinaman, put that weapon on the floor before I shoot these two with one bullet.

Po Sin put the weapon on the floor.

– And kick it on over.

Po Sin kicked it over.

– And sit your big ass down.

Po Sin sat his big ass down.

– OK. For the moment, we're all gonna stay pretty much like this till my boy over there comes to. Then we'll figure out how this all sorts.

He squatted and reached for the pistol near his feet and Gabe came out of the bathroom with the sap I'd seen in his glove box and smashed Harris’ gun hand and the revolver dropped and hit the floor and Harris kept reaching for the pistol at his feet and Gabe kicked it clear and brought his knee up into Harris’ face and Po Sin was up and moving and Gabe put the sap across Harris’ knee and the cowboy went down and Gabe dropped and sat on his chest and took the sap and shoved it into Harris’ mouth till it had to be at the back of his throat and Po Sin came over and looked down at me and Soledad.

– Get up.

We got up.

Harris gagged. Gabe took out the sap and forced Harris’ head to the side and waited for the vomiting to subside before putting it back in.

Po Sin watched for a second then turned back to us.

– That the brother?

I looked at Jaime's feet sticking out from under the bed where he'd crawled to hide.

– Yeah.

He bent and grabbed an ankle and dragged Jaime squirming into the light.

– Get up.

Jaime stood, one big bundle of flinching muscles.

– Uh, hey, uh.

Po Sin pointed at Harris and Gabe.

– See that?

Jaime nodded.

– Sure.

Po Sin shook his head.

– No you don't.

Jaime nodded.

– No, no I don't. I do not.

Po Sin looked the room over.

– Anything in here belong to any of you three? A hat? Keys? Phone? Check your pockets, make sure you have everything you came in with.

Jaime pawed his pockets.

– I got everything, sir, I have all my stuff.

Po Sin looked at me and Soledad.

– You two?

We nodded.

He pointed at the door.

– OK, get out.

Harris jerked and tried to knee Gabe in the back and Po Sin took a pillow from the bed and tossed it to Gabe and Gabe muffled Harris’ face and Po Sin stepped on the cowboy's ruined gun hand and there was a noise from behind the pillow.

Jaime bolted for the door. I pushed Soledad ahead of me, detouring to unzip one of the duffels and pull out a thin Harbor Inn bath towel. Jaime and Soledad went out. I closed the door to a crack and stood just inside.

– Po Sin.

He looked up.

– Yeah.

– What are you gonna?

– We're gonna find out where my van is. I don't think it will take long. But you probably don't want to watch.

– And that's?

– What?

– That's all, just find out where?

Po Sin crossed the room.

– Go home, Web. Nothing's gonna happen here.

He opened the door and pushed me out.

I stuck my foot in the door.

– Hey man, just, you know. Not too much. I mean. I called for help, but.

– That's right, you called for help. Help came. Now we're just gonna clean things up a little.

And he closed the door in my face, cutting off my view as one of Harris’ hands flailed and knocked Gabe's sunglasses from his face to reveal that single inked tear, dark beneath a raging eye.

– I mean, is this how you think partners behave, asshole?

I flicked the blinker and shifted onto the exit ramp.

– We're not partners.

Jaime folded his arms a little tighter.

– Apparently fucking not. Partners let each other in on the plan. Partners have some trust between them. You think I could get anything done in the industry if I did business the way you do, just giving people half the information and not even telling them the details of what happens in the third act? I could not.

I came off the ramp and took a right.

– Seeing as you're a complete fuckup, Jaime, I thought it best not to tell you that what I really needed you to do was to get found sneaking around so they'd think they caught us messing with them and not be worrying about us trying to pull something else. Seeing as you have an obvious gift for doing the absolutely wrong thing, I figured that if I told you you needed to get caught doing something suspicious, you'd probably end up in the greatest hiding place known to man. If I'd told you to let yourself get caught, you'd probably still be hiding in some damn storm drain or something.

– Well no shit! What asshole lets himself get caught?

I pulled into the parking lot and stopped.

– How relieved I am to know I was correct.

He looked around.

– What's this?

– Your motel.

He didn't move.

– I thought we might go grab a drink or something. You know, wrap party. Kind of review the events and see how the numbers add up.