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

I showed my middle finger to him.

– But fucker that you are, that doesn't mean you can get rid of me, you pathetic misanthropic shit. I mean, I'm not saying you don't grow old after about the first five minutes I'm with you, but I can fucking take it. God knows I've had the practice. So.

I hooked a thumb at the house.

– I'll be here next week with a truck to start hauling away some of this shit and to get the lights turned on. And. Whatever.

He straightened his glasses.

– What's the matter, Web?

– Fuck you.

He stood up.

– What happened? What's been happening? What's this about?

I put a hand on his chest as he approached me.

– L.L., all this is about is how I don't want to get a call one day from someone, and find out your corpse has been rotting up here for five weeks and I have to come and smell it and see the stain where you melted into the carpet. I don't want to clean up after you when you're dead.

He nodded.

– Well, I didn't want to clean up after you when you were a baby. So I guess that's fair.

I nodded.

– King Fucker, L.L., that's you.

He dropped back into his chair.

– You hold your own, Web, you hold your own just fine.

– I have skills.

He turned his back, put his feet on the lower rail of the deck and picked up his book.

– Make the most of them.

I stood there.

– I'll be back next week with the truck.

He tugged a stained handkerchief from his pocket and waved it in the air.

– As you wish.

I went to the door.

– I found the money in Karenina. -Did you read the book?

– Man, I know all I need to know about unhappy families.

He wiped his nose with the handkerchief and returned it to his pocket.

– I guess you would.

I scratched my head.

– But I could use some more money.

He opened his book.

– Yes, I saw that you are wearing a towel in lieu of actual pants. One suspects you might need the odd dollar or two. As I said earlier, it's in the jar.

– I need a lot. For a fuckup I know. Someone pathetic enough to need help from someone like me.

He picked up his glass and toasted the sky.

– Help yourself. If you need more than what's there, let me know.

I started into the house.

L.L. called after.

– Delightful to see you, Web. Nothing like a visit from the fruit of the old loins to make a man feel his mortality creeping up from behind. Ah, all this gloriously morbid talk. Just what a lion in winter requires on a chill evening. Thanks and thanks again. We must do it again soonest.

I listened to him as I negotiated the books and bottles in the kitchen and found the rooster-shaped cookie jar from my childhood and took off the lid and began sorting through the wads of bills stuffed inside.

Sparing a look at L.L. as I headed out the front door, the book back on his stomach, head dropped forward, shoulders rising and falling, King Fucker of the world at rest.

The light was on in our apartment when I parked the Apache in its spot.

I stared up at the light.

– What night is it?

Soledad had to think about that one.

– Sunday?

– Crap.

I opened the truck door and looked around the cab.

– It look pretty clean in here?

She looked at the seats.

– Looks really clean to me.

– Sure, to you and me it looks really clean, but to the guy who restored this thing from the axles up, it doesn't take much.

She brushed some ashes from the seat.

– Better?

I got out.

– Come on.

I jingled my keys and fiddled with the knob before going in. But I didn't need to give him any warning, he knew the sound of the Apache from a block away.

I opened up.

He looked from the TV screen showing a paused frame of Spetters, put a finger to his lips and pointed at Dot, curled sleeping on the couch with her head in his lap.

I nodded and came in and closed the door softly, and Soledad rapped on it and Dot lifted her head.

– Mfuh?

I opened the door.

Soledad tapped my forehead.

– Forget something?

– Sorry.

I held the door open and she came in.

– That's Chev. That's his friend Dot.

Dot rubbed her face all over and looked at Soledad.

– Whasas?

I closed the door again.

– Hey Dot. Hey. This is Soledad. She's. This is Soledad.

Soledad pointed at the hall.

– Bathroom?

– Uh, yeah. Straight back.

She went down the hall.

Dot watched her go, looked back at me.

– She know what a dick you are?

I nodded.

– Most definitely.

She put her head back in Chev's lap.

– Must've been the steam room look that got her.

I pulled the towel tighter around my waist.

– Yeah, she digs the bathhouse scene.

I bounced the truck keys on my palm and Chev held his hand up and I tossed them to him and he caught them.

He looked at the keys.

– You put gas in her?

– Yeah. Stopped at the corner.

– It's too expensive there.

– I didn't remember before.

He let the keys dangle from his index finger and studied them.

– She give you any problems?

– No. No problems.

Soledad came out from the bathroom and stood at the mouth of the hall and pointed at the two bedroom doors.

– I'm tired.

I pointed at mine.

– That one.

She yawned, covered her mouth.

– OK.

She took her hand away and peeked around the corner.

– Hey Chev, Dot, nice to meet you. Hope I get to talk later.

She waved at me

– Don't stay up too long.

And went into my bedroom.

Dot pulled a thin blanket from the back of the couch and put it around her bare legs.

– She seems nice.

I walked over to my bookcase.

– She is.

I took a book from the case.

– Say, Dot.

– Mhun?

– I'm sorry I was such a gargantuan dick the other day.

She closed her eyes.

– Chev says sorry don't mean shit.

I looked at Chev.

– He's right about that.

She found one of Chev's hands and tugged his arm around her shoulders.

– Then fuck your apology, just try to be nicer to me.

– OK. I'll try.

Chev pointed at the TV.

– You're in the way.

I got out of the way and he started his movie playing.

I walked to the hall, stopped.

– Hey man.

He held up a hand.

– I want to watch this.

I nodded.

– OK. Tomorrow?

He nodded.

– Tomorrow.

I cracked my bedroom door and looked in and saw Soledad under the blankets, her clothes tossed over the floor. I went in and dropped the towel and took off my shirt and kicked off my shoes and peeled the crusty socks from my feet and got into bed with her and opened the book I'd brought with me.

She rolled over and looked at what I was reading.

– Cute kids.

I turned another page of the Hollywoodland Elementary yearbook.

– Yeah. Cute kids.

I took a loaf of 99-grain whole wheat that Dot had bought out of the fridge and put a couple slices in the toaster oven.

– Which toothbrush is yours?

I looked at Soledad standing in the hall.

– The yellow one.

– I'm gonna use it.

– Sure.

I watched her go into the bathroom, and found some grapes and rinsed them off and put them in a bowl and got a couple small plates and a butter knife and took it all to the table. I looked at the table, remembered wiping it down, sponging away Talbot's blood, and changed course and took the breakfast things into the livingroom and set them out on the floor in front of the couch and threw a couple cushions down.

Soledad came out of the bathroom and went into my bedroom and closed the door. The coffeemaker gurgled and I took the pot off and filled two cups. Behind the door Soledad was talking to herself. The toaster oven dinged and I grabbed the two pieces of hot toast by their corners and carried them into the livingroom and set one on each plate. The bedroom door opened as I went back to the kitchen for the cups.