The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death by Charlie Huston Read Free Book Online Page A

buddies gonna take up a collection, get him a nice casket, a mausoleum at Hollywood Forever? Damon Runyon don't live here no more, man. Once they grab his last can of Sterno and his shoes, if he's got any, they walk away. Sooner or later, someone at the mission or one of the treatment centers, or a cop cruising by because he took the wrong fucking turn, will see the body. Sometime after that, the coroner gets a call. They have a service they call to do the pickup. Gabe works for one of those services. It's his night job.
    He took a bite out of a Slim Jim he got from the box beneath the driver's seat.
    —That's why he can't drive you home.
    —So what's up with him? Know he keeps a sap in his glove box? And what's with all that camping gear?
    —Gabe's between places of residence just now.
    —What, he's homeless?
    —He prefers to have no fixed address at this time.
    —Uh-huh.
    I tapped my cheekbone.
    —And that tattoo, that tear under his eye, that's gang shit, right? He some reformed O.G. or something?
    He shoved that last six inches of the Slim Jim in his mouth.
    —Don't talk shit you don't know shit about, Web. 'Sides, you got a problem with him if he has a history? You don't want to ride with him? You'd rather ride the bus?
    We rolled on Beverly, the street bending east at the ramps to the 101.
    —I don't ride the bus.
    He crumpled the empty wrapper and threw it under his seat.
    —I know.
    Traffic crawled to a full stop for no visible reason. It being in the nature of all LA. drivers to be suddenly seized en masse by retardation and start hitting the brake pedal when every light in the immediate vicinity is a nice bright green.
    Po Sin, taking advantage of the respite, removed his hands from the wheel, stretched, looked at me.
    —But you should, you know, ride the bus. Might be good for you.
    I stared up at the giant red sign for the Ambassador Dog & Cat Hospital.A beacon for wounded animals everywhere. Or something. I mean, there has to be a reason why the sign is so fucking tall, right? I always picture some old lady out walking her Maltese when a sharp pain starts radiating down its left front leg. She crouches next to the stricken dog, screaming for help, cars passing by, no other pedestrians in sight. Desperate, she looks to heaven, and there it is, visible from a mile away, the Ambassador. Thank Jesus for that fucking sign!
    —You listening?
    I looked at him.
    —Yeah. I'm just failing to hear anything that has anything to do with anything I give a shit about.
    Traffic moved. Po Sin drove.
    —You give a shit alright.
    —Says you.
    He adjusted the rearview.
    —Xing's back on the bus.
    —How proud you must be of her.
    He grunted, a phlegmy and no doubt Slim Jim flavored sound that was meant, I suppose, to indicate his disgust.
    We passed Jollibee. I stared at the red and yellow fiberglass Jolly Bee out front.
    —What's with the paint on the van?
    Po Sin flicked on the headlights.
    —Nothing. Just business.
    —Just business? Paint bombs?
    —There's some competition out there. Trauma scene and waste cleaning is a growth industry.
    —Competition for cleaning shit. I'm trying to make that work in my head. What kind of people are drawn to that kind of work and fight for the honor?
    He reached over and punched me lightly in the shoulder. Lightly for Po Sin being sufficient to slam me into the door and leave me rubbing both shoulders.
    He jabbed me with his forefinger, each jab deepening the shade of purple that would no doubt be spreading across my shoulder in the next hour, if it survived his onslaught.
    —Kind of people who are fighting over cleaning shit and blood and assorted bodily fluids are people who need a job. People who need money.Now I don't know about you, but I know a few people who fit that profile. You know anyone like that? Ring any bells?
    I pulled out of his range.
    —Yeah, yeah, I get it. Sure, I'm no better than anyone else. I'm just saying, seems weird to be fighting over who gets to