The Mystic Arts Of Erasing All Signs Of Death Part 22

A job well done.

A potentially very criminal job, well done.

Details, details, details.

Jaime lurched up from his chair, scattering the litter of tiny bottles at his feet, and toed the wastebasket.

-So all you gotta do is wash those out an' you can get the f.u.c.k out of here.

I peeled the rubber gloves from my hand and dropped them on top of the stained sheets.

-Jaime, my man, I don't know how to tell you this, and I don't much want to, but I'm afraid you're going to have to eat the deposit on the sheets.

He watched me as I packed the cleaning gear back into the carrier.

-f.u.c.k is that supposed to mean?

I wedged a pack of disposable paint sc.r.a.pers into the carrier.

-It means that s.h.i.t is not coming out.

-Little bleach. f.u.c.k do you know?

I pointed at the sheets.

-I had a girlfriend once, had the heaviest periods you ever saw. Dated the girl for over a year, and I threw away enough sheets in that year to know a lost cause when I see one. Those are dead soldiers.

Soledad came over.

-Can you get rid of them for us?

I nodded.

-Yeah, I can get rid of them. I can do that.

She nodded.

-Thanks.

I bent to pick up the wastebasket and Jaime slapped my hand away.

-f.u.c.kin'way man. Sheets stay here.

I looked at the clock. Almost four. My eyes ached. My head and my mouth throbbed. I don't want to talk about how I felt below the waist. Suffice to say I was really looking forward to lying down.

I picked up the carrier.

-OK by me, the sheets stay here.

I started for the door and heard his knife snap open behind me.

-f.u.c.kin' freeze, a.s.shole. No one leaves till these sheets are clean and this location is wrapped.

I turned and looked at him, swaying drunk, knife in hand.

I set the carrier on the dresser, between the TV and the lamp.

-Do you have a gun?

-What?

I looked at Soledad.

-Does he have a gun?

She tossed the stub of her smoke through the bathroom door in the direction of the tub.

-No.

Jaime twirled the knife, almost lost his grip on it, recovered, settled into a credible kung fu stance that I was pretty sure I recognized from Chev's copy of Game of Death. Game of Death.

-Don't need a gun.

I picked up the lamp, knocked the shade from it, yanked the plug from the wall, turned it upside down and showed him the pointed corners of the heavy wood base.

-And I have a lamp. If you take one more step toward me with that knife, I will hit you as hard as I can with this lamp. If you die, I will clean up the mess and leave. If you don't die, you can clean up your own blood. a.s.shole.

He looked at his sister.

-Sol?

She went to the closet and got a jacket and pulled it on.

-Don't look at me, Jaime.

He jabbed the knife at the air.

-Dude's threatening your brother. Gonna let that happen?

She walked to the wastebasket.

-Still willing to get rid of this stuff?

I hefted the lamp.

-Yeah. Sure.

She picked up the wastebasket.

-Can I come with?

-Sure.

She came to my side of the room and picked up the cleaning carrier.

-Let's go.

I followed her to the door, eyes on Jaime, the lamp held out.

-It won't cost much, they're c.r.a.p sheets.

He dropped his arms to his sides, knife dangling from his fingers.

-f.u.c.k do you know? Didn't even clean up the almonds, a.s.shole. f.u.c.king don't call me, I'll call you, f.u.c.ker.

And I backed from the room, pausing to set the lamp inside the door before I closed it and ran for the van, taking the carrier from Soledad, she taking my hand, running along with me. Laughing.

ONLY A SMALL EARTHQUAKE.

-How'd you get out here?

-Taxi.

I took my eyes from the road.

-You took a taxi from Malibu to Carson?

She kept her eyes closed.

-Yeah. They say when you've had a loss in the family, a sudden and unexpected loss, they say driving is a bad idea.

-Why's that?

-Because you're distracted, I guess. I mean, I don't know by what. Unless they mean the memory of finding your dad with his head blown all over the room.

She opened her eyes, shook her head, pinched her cheek.

-I think I'm going to have to learn not to be so flippant about that. I'm not handling it as well as I thought I could.

-So the taxi was probably a good call.

-Probably. Of course, the driver no doubt a.s.sumed I was coming down here for a late-night hookup with some rough trade I'd been chatting with online. But I'll live with the dim opinion of my cabby this once.

-We should all be so well adjusted.

She waved a hand.

-Well, well adjusted well adjusted, let's not get carried away.

I smiled.

-Yeah, especially as your brother seems to have the market cornered on that particular quality.

-He's really just my half brother.

-Yeah, same mom, I got that.

She stopped inspecting the glories advertised on the ma.s.sive illuminated signs looming over the 405 North mega car lots of Torrance, and looked at me.

-How'd you get that?

I hit my blinker and changed lanes to get out from behind a Pinto stuffed with the ama.s.sed possessions of its owner; boxes and bags heaped from the floorboards to the headliner and smashed against the windows, leaving just enough s.p.a.ce for the driver, one of the rolling homeless of L.A. I glanced at him, talking endlessly to himself, as we pa.s.sed.

I looked back at the road ahead.

-He kept saying your dad. your dad. I just a.s.sumed that meant you had different dads is all. I just a.s.sumed that meant you had different dads is all.

She looked back at the signs.

-Oooh, Detective Web at work. Did you suss out any more family secrets?

-Just that the black sheep of the family back there is also a f.u.c.king moron.

-Hardly a secret, that one.

-Yeah, he does rather wear it on his sleeve.

She began going through the pockets of her jacket, searching.

-He's actually kind of OK. Or he was, anyway. When we were kids. Just spoiled mostly. And starved for attention.

-Interesting combination.

She came up with a hair bungee from her pockets and began to pull her hair into a ponytail.

-Well, my mom is an interesting woman with strange abilities. Especially when it comes to s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with her kids' heads.

I adjusted the shoulder strap of my seatbelt where it snugged too tight across my neck.

-Yeah, moms are tricky that way.

She got her hair where she wanted it, a couple wild curls poking loose, and settled back into her seat.

-Our mom is a little more than tricky. Her special talent with Jaime was to give him anything and everything he asked for. This being the easiest way she knew to keep him occupied, and keep her from having to actually deal with him as, I don't know, a human being. Jaime's response was to ask for more and more extravagant toys, trips, parties, whatever he thought would force her to deal with him, I guess.