The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death - Charlie Huston [63]
Gabe took a clean white handkerchief from his breast pocket, blotted his upper lip, tucked the handkerchief away and pointed at the car.
—Let's go.
I circled to the passenger door and got in.
—That's OK. I understand you're the reticent type. I just thought that since we were accessories in a few felonies together that you might warm up a little and share a couple biographical details. For the sake of conversation.
He pulled his seatbelt across the shoulder and buckled it into place.
—I make an observation here, Web?
I buckled my own belt.
—Sure, but don't go crazy. You've already spoke more in the last fifteen minutes than I thought was possible. Don't want you to sprain your tongue or anything.
He nodded.
—No danger. No danger.
—Good. Well, as long as you're careful, what is it you've observed?
He licked the pad of his thumb and rubbed a spot on the inside of the windshield.
—Some looks. A few silences.
I nodded.
—Wow, man. Fascinating stuff.
He looked at the speck he'd rubbed onto his thumb.
—It is. In its own way.
—Uh-huh. Well. Thanks, Gabe. That was enlightening. Thanks for the observations.
He took out the handkerchief again and wiped his thumb on it.
—The way you and Po Sin talk about some things. Don't talk about others. The way I know Po Sin, and the way he is around you, that suggests things. About you, I mean.
—Deeper and deeper, Gabe. Deeper and deeper.
He tucked the handkerchief away.
—Way I know Po Sin, how little he keeps from me, lets me know that whatever it is you two talk about where you're not talking about anything, that it's pretty personal to you.
I scratched at a spot on my new old slacks.
He turned his lenses on me.
—A person, he's got a past. Everyone dragging one behind them. You want to know how I ended up driving dead people around? Cleaning up after them? Well, that's my past, ain't it?
I nodded.
—Yeah. I get it.
He shook his head.
—No. You don't. See, point here isn't mind your own goddamn business. Point is, Web, you want to know how it is I can be comfortable with the dead?
He looked out the windshield.
—You might first ask how you're so comfortable with the dead.
He fired the engine.
—What's that they say about familiarity that I read somewhere?
—Breeds contempt?
He checked his mirrors, began to back down the drive.
—Way I read that, just means you're around something enough, you get used to it.
We bounced down into the street and he dropped the gearshift into drive and pointed us east.
—Me and Po Sin, there's just shit we have reason to have gotten used to when we were younger. That's all.
SKEWED
Chev's Apache wasn't out front.
Whether that was good or bad, I couldn't say. Letting another day go past before I could do some serious ass-kissing, well, some serious sarcastic ass-kissing anyway, might be what the doctor ordered. Or it could be one step closer to him being done with my shit and throwing my possessions out the window for me to claim from the street.
From the alley, a sudden burst of dialogue.
—You fucking bitch, you fucked him, didn't you?
—Fuck you.
—You fucking cock tease bitch.
—Fuck you.
—You had his cock in your cunt, didn't you?
—Fuck you.
Going up the stairs, I considered the virtues of being homeless and friendless. The first of these being that no one would offer me a job that would turn into a crime spree.
I unlocked the apartment door, found I was just a little disappointed not to see Dot inside waiting to irritate me, walked into the dark livingroom, got tripped by someone hiding behind the door and went face-first into the carpet.
The someone lurking behind the door put his foot in my back and shoved me deeper into the carpet.
—Where's our fucking can?
My hands flailed and hit something solid and heavy and I grabbed it.
—It's down the hall.
The foot shoved harder.
—What? What the fuck? Are you fucking? Is that a joke?
Of course it wasn't a joke, I was telling the absolute truth. The can, or bathroom if you will, was indeed down the hall. I wasn't sure why this person