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

– Got coffee. Milk in yours?

– I called a cab.

I looked at her, face washed, hair pulled back, sunglasses on.

– I need to get going.

I set the cups down.

– Sure.

I looked around the apartment.

– I mean, considering the alternative is Malibu, why stay around here.

She nodded.

– Especially with all the exciting conversations with law enforcement officials I have to look forward to out at the beach.

She pointed at the couch.

– Where's?

– Don't know. Probably having brunch somewhere. Organic berries and egg whites for Dot, organic espresso and tobacco for Chev.

– Interesting couple, they seemed.

– I'd swear it won't last, but I don't know shit about relationships.

She cocked her head.

– A girl'd never know.

We stood there.

She put her hand on the doorknob.

– So.

– Hang on, I'll walk you out.

I went and grabbed something from my room and we walked down to the curb, the voices of the homeless couple drifting down the street as they worked their way from garbage can to garbage can, removing the recyclables.

– Fuckhead.

– Bitch.

– Asswipe.

– Cocksucker.

Soledad nodded.

– It must be love.

– Sounds like it, doesn't it?

A cab rounded the corner and pulled up.

– This is me.

I took the roll of bills from my pocket.

– Do me a favor, give this to Jaime.

She looked at the money.

– Web. You don't really have to.

I held the money out.

– I told him I'd pay him. I promised. I.

– He'll just.

– I don't care. It's his. Maybe it'll help. Maybe it'll keep him out of trouble for a while.

She shrugged.

– It won't.

She took the money.

– But it's a nice thing to do.

She put the money in her handbag.

– OK. So. OK.

She opened the door.

– So look.

She tossed her bag into the cab and looked at the driver.

– Just one more minute, that cool?

He nodded.

She looked at me, pushed her sunglasses firmly against the bridge of her nose.

– Web. Just so we're clear. I'm. I'm a mess.

– Really? Wow, you hide it so well.

– Yes, don't I? But. This isn't, you know, this isn't the normal me. This isn't the way my life normally goes. I'm an even-keel girl, you know. But. My dad. My dad. I'm not on steady ground. And the way I feel now, I just, I mean, look at the decisions I've been making the last few days. It's just. My emotions. I, I don't trust them. I don't trust myself to make the right, to make smart choices now. Especially with someone as spectacularly fucked up as you.

I looked at the ground.

– Thanks. Coming from you, that really means something.

– Thought you'd appreciate the sentiment.

– Oh, I do, I do.

She picked at the rubber seal along the edge of the cab door.

– Anyway. I'm in no shape to get into. Anything. Like. You know. I can't.

– Sure.

– But.

She raised her shoulders and dropped them.

– I'm just too tired to be alone with all the crap I'm going to have to go through. I don't want to do all this, the police, whatever kind of press, the estate. Jesus, the estate, when my mom starts sniffing around for her cut? That's gonna be a shit storm. And I don't want to be alone with all that. I don't want to sleep alone. I want someone to call. I want a friend. I want a lover. I don't want to do this alone. I want help.

She took my little finger and squeezed it.

– And I think you're the nice guy. I mean, I know you have a huge asshole in permanent residence inside, but I think you're the nice guy.

She leaned over the top of the door and kissed me.

– So I'm just gonna have to hope I'm right about that.

She got in the cab.

– 'Cause I'm too tired to do anything else.

I put my hands in my pockets.

– Your flattery knows no bounds.

– Yeah. I'm a sweet talker.

– Right. So this means?

The cabby turned and gave her a look and she nodded and looked up at me.

– I'll see you tonight, Web.

She closed the door. The cab pulled away. The window rolled down and she stuck her head out.

– If I'm not in jail.

I watched the cab to the end of the street, standing on the curb, still there a couple minutes later when Chev pulled into his spot.

I wandered over.

– Hey.

He climbed out, ran a hand over the freshly washed door.

– Lucky you didn't fuck her up.

– I was careful.

He closed the door and sat on the running board.

– Beautiful day.

I looked at the utterly typical, stunning blue sky hovering relentlessly above.

– Yeah.

I sat next to him.

– Some things.

He stretched his legs, crossed his ankles.

– Like?

I leaned forward, put my elbows on my knees.

– I saw L.L. again. Last night.

I looked at him, looked away.

– He's, not that it matters, but he's in sorryass shape. And I'm gonna, I don't know, I need to see if I can. Help? I guess. And I don't want to sneak around doing it.

He uncrossed his ankles, recrossed them the other way.

– He's your dad. Do what you have to.

– And I took some money from him. For a guy I know. To pay a debt.

He slipped the smokes from his T sleeve and knocked one from the pack.

– 'Kay.

– Just so you know.

– Now I know.

He lit up, tilted his face to the sun and closed his eyes and blew smoke.

I leaned my back against the hot steel of the door.

– I want to do better, Chev. I. I want to try and do better. Shit, man, I want to just, I want to try. I'm tired of. Things. I'm not saying. I don't feel any better. About it. I still can't think. About it. Too clearly. It still makes me want to fall asleep. But I know. It. Happened. I know I was there and the girl. I know. It. Happened. And I don't want to be him. I don't want to be L.L. I don't want this one fucked up thing to be who I am and that's it, this is the end of my life. I do not want to feel like this, be like this forever. I mean, I'm not sure, but I think I used to be kind of a nice guy.

He took the cigarette from his lips, opened his eyes and slid them my way.

– Web, man, you have never in your life been a nice guy.

He closed his eyes again.

– But you used to be pretty damn cool. You used to be a guy a friend could count on. And it'd be nice if you were that way again.

I nodded.

– See, that's it. That's it. I want to be that guy, I want to be the guy people can count on. That sounds great. I don't exactly remember how that worked, but I want to try and be that again. Really, man.

He nodded, worked a hand into his pocket.

– Cool.

He took his hand from his pocket.

– So why don't you start by telling me where you took my truck.

He opened his hand and showed me the nine-millimeter bullet inside.

– And how this got in there.

– The phone?

– Yeah.

– Jesus. I think we need to get rid of it.

We both sat on the couch, staring at the phone in the middle of the liv-ingroom floor.

I nodded.

– Yeah. Without a doubt.

He pointed at the kitchen table.

– There was stuff on it?

– Urn, yeah.

– Lots?

– Not really.

– On the top?

– Yeah.

He shook his head.

– We got to get rid of it.

He put his face in his hands.

– With the fucking phone. That is so. Oh man.

He took his face from his hands and looked at me.

– Was the guy a dick?

– Chev, he beat his nephew to death with a fucking phone! Yes, he was a dick.

– No, the nephew, was he a?

– I don't know. Probably. Why do you?