The Mystic Arts Of Erasing All Signs Of Death Part 38

Jaime headed for the door, I followed.

Homero opened his cash register to put the money inside.

-And tell your mama I said hi.

Jaime pushed out the door, mouth closed, waiting for me at the truck until I unlocked his door. He jerked it open and climbed in.

I walked around and got in and put the key in the ignition.

-Uncle or something?

He shook his head.

-Mom's first pimp.

He looked at me.

-Croaker is the worst f.u.c.king fish in the world. Rather eat s.h.i.t.

He looked out the window at the old man waving from inside the shop.

-Rather eat s.h.i.t like a f.u.c.king dog.

-What went wrong?

Jaime took his eyes from the water below us as I worked the Apache up the steep incline of the bridge, past the parti-colored bulk of a Swedish cruise ship moored on our right.

-Mean, what went wrong? what went wrong? Motherf.u.c.ker turned her out. That's what went wrong. Not that I give a f.u.c.k. b.i.t.c.h wanted to wh.o.r.e, that's her business. Not like she stuck with it anyway. Moms is talent. Adult films. Got a name. Motherf.u.c.ker turned her out. That's what went wrong. Not that I give a f.u.c.k. b.i.t.c.h wanted to wh.o.r.e, that's her business. Not like she stuck with it anyway. Moms is talent. Adult films. Got a name.

Feeling, I will admit, more than a bit awkward, I clarified.

-No, I mean, what went wrong with the almond deal? Why'd you cut Talbot and all that?

He played with the zipper on the envelope.

-That s.h.i.t. What went wrong. What went wrong. What went wrong with that s.h.i.t was Soledad's dad went totally off script and started improvising. Killed himself. f.u.c.k do you think went wrong? What went wrong with that s.h.i.t was Soledad's dad went totally off script and started improvising. Killed himself. f.u.c.k do you think went wrong?

-But you didn't get involved until he was already.

-Yeah. So? Still, motherf.u.c.ker had been alive, it all would have worked out.

I kept my own counsel, unable to find a hole in his logic.

He provided enlightenment.

-Not my business, this s.h.i.t. I'm a dream merchant, yeah? Commodities aren't my thing. I mean some X, sure, but not produce. Took me a bit of time because they needed someone on the other end.

-Like who?

-Like a buyer. Harris, he lost his buyer on the other end, the one his relative had him hooked up with. He came down here, it wasn't just that he needed to get the load shipped, he needed a new buyer. Soledad's pops supposed to have one all lined up.

-So?

-So? So whatever the buyer's name was ends up splattered all over the wall with the rest of the contents of Westin Nye's brain. a.s.shole. You, not him. So whatever the buyer's name was ends up splattered all over the wall with the rest of the contents of Westin Nye's brain. a.s.shole. You, not him.

We crested the midpoint of the bridge and the Ports of Los Angeles and Long Beach rolled away below us, spiked with endless cranes, crossed with rail sidings, piled with containers. Industrial wasteland parceled and fenced and knitted together by wide roadways traveled by caravans of eighteen-wheelers, all of it reeking of oil and exhaust.

L.L. loved it down here. Wrote it into any number of unmade screenplays.

One of the great American metaphors, Web. The outer reach of manifest destiny, the point from which we ship the material instruments of our cultural dominance. The physical bookend to the work we do in Hollywood. f.u.c.k, you could shoot an amazing chase scene here. Blow the s.h.i.t out of The French Connection. The French Connection.

Other things could be blown the s.h.i.t out of at the port. I remember drinking a milk shake in a diner between a truck wash and a strip club up on East Anaheim Street while L.L. had his pipes cleaned by one of the strippers who worked both long-hauler conveniences.

I put aside my reverie.

-So, no buyer. What else went wrong?

He looked back at San Pedro, over the bridge and across the water.

-I couldn't find a forwarder who would handle the load. Turned out I was gonna have to deal with people I didn't want to have to deal with. Homero. And he wanted that grand for the paperwork, up front. Seeing as all my liquid capital is tied up with the YouTube kids, I'm a little cash poor just now. So I had to move some X and that took time.

-You blew your end of the deal.

-I did not blow my end. Obstacles came up that I hadn't been able to avoid. s.h.i.t took longer than I thought. They wanted turnaround like yesterday. But from working in the industry, I'm geared toward things moving at a steady pace. I'm used to weighing the pros and cons of decisions when millions could be at stake. Someday. These guys, they want to sell s.h.i.t and get paid right away.

-Strange how thieves might be in a hurry.

-f.u.c.king cool it with the smarta.s.s, a.s.shole. Here, over here.

-Here?

-Yeah.

We came off the 47 onto Ocean Boulevard, past the twin domes of the waste reclamation plant, a monstrous installation far too evocative of colossal and perfectly symmetrical b.r.e.a.s.t.s for Jaime not to comment.

He pointed.

-Looks like big t.i.ts.

I declined to respond.

-Big t.i.tties.

I changed the subject.

-So what happened when you couldn't do what they wanted when they wanted it?

He threw his hands up.

-f.u.c.king Talbot gets all in my face. Starts talking about the delay means costs and how they're gonna have to come out of my ten percent. Bulls.h.i.t.

-Yeah, total bulls.h.i.t. And that was before you knew they weren't even paying the full ten percent.

-f.u.c.king right! s.h.i.t. Telling me I was gonna have to cover their hotel and meals for the extra days. As if.

I took a moment to replay what he'd said. Decided I had to be wrong. Realized I probably wasn't. Thought I'd ask. Thought I'd rather not know for sure. And finally couldn't help myself.

-Um, they wanted you to cover their expenses?

-Believe that s.h.i.t?

-For like a couple days, right?

-f.u.c.king gall!

-They wanted you to cover their room and board for a couple days was what they wanted? Am I correct about that?

-Yeah, that's what I'm saying. You need it in some other brand of English?

-You cut Talbot and started this whole round of s.h.i.t because?

-Because motherf.u.c.ker was reneging on a business agreement. I mean, s.h.i.t may fly in b.u.t.te County, but not in Hollywood.

I stared at the rear of the bobtail we were stuck behind.

-Jaime. You cut a man. His boss, his uncle got p.i.s.sed. He got so p.i.s.sed, he killed the man you cut.

-And?

I cranked the wheel over and took us off Ocean onto the access road to Terminal T and pulled to the side of the road.

-Dots not connecting, are they? Pointless for me to continue? Yes, I can see that's the case. I won't even bother with the part where they must have been watching your hotel room when I showed up. The part where they followed me and Soledad up to L.A. and s.n.a.t.c.hed her and, by the by, stole my boss's van. Oh, and that, that bit of grand theft auto, for the record, that led to another van being firebombed and shots being fired into a place of business. But I will refrain from lining it up so you can see how all these events result from you not being willing to pick up someone's f.u.c.king per diem. a.s.shole.

He brushed his hand at me.

-Not my fault. People responsible for themselves. n.o.body in this, n.o.body that didn't put themselves in it.

I raised my hand.

-I'd beg to differ. My a.s.s is in this because I got dragged in by a psycho cowboy who told me to get his almonds or something bad something bad would happen to someone I like. would happen to someone I like.

He leaned close.

-No, you're in this because my sis called you in the middle of the night for a little help and you came running as fast as you could because you wanted to get in tight with her and tap that a.s.s.

It would have been nice to tell him he was wrong. More to the point, it would have been nice if he had been been wrong. But he wasn't. wrong. But he wasn't.

I slumped back in the seat.

-OK. f.u.c.k you. f.u.c.k me. f.u.c.k us all. We're all f.u.c.ked. Now what?

He unzipped the bank envelope and took out a pistol and pointed it at me.

-Now we discuss terms. Points of gross and s.h.i.t.

-They have your sister!

-Man, I don't care. I mean, I care. And I'm gonna get her back, but I don't want any misunderstanding, I'm getting my f.u.c.king ten percent.

-Wait, is that the real ten percent, or the fake ten percent you were too stupid to realize wasn't really ten percent because you are so f.u.c.king stupid?

-Man, did I show you this?

He picked up the gun from the dash again and showed it to me.

-That's all you've shown me for the last half hour.

He pointed it at me.

-So stop f.u.c.king around.

-You stop pointing that thing at me! I told you in the first place, I cannot think when you point that at me! I'm like a freak that way, all my brain juice runs out my a.s.s when some moron who doesn't know his multiplication tables points a gun at me and might accidentally pull the trigger because he thinks it's his nose and he's trying to pick it!

-OK, OK, chill, chill!

He put the gun back on the dash.

-There, it's down. Chill.

I chilled. Or I tried to chill. My ability to chill being seriously hampered. My sense of proportion, already in sorry shape before I first walked into a c.o.c.kroach-filled apartment and started hauling little plastic bags of s.h.i.t out of it, was f.u.c.ked beyond recognition.

And I was having some very creepy thoughts.

Like ...

What if none of this is real? I mean, does it seem real to you, Web? Have you ever had experiences like this? Has anyone you know had experiences like this? Does this not seem rather more like a bad screenplay L.L. might have brushed up in the '80s than like real life? Are you, perhaps, going a little more loony than you first suspected? Or, wait, how about this? Maybe you're not going crazy, maybe, wait for it, maybe you're dead? Get it? Like, you got hit by one of the bullets on the bus? Like you died on the bus and all of this is like after-death experience, like your journey into the afterlife? Or maybe you're still alive, still on the bus? Like it all just happened, is happening, right now? What about that s.h.i.t?

I shook my head.

-No. No way. Too weird.

Jaime shot me an eye.

-Say what?

-Nothing. I'm cool. I'm here. This is happening. I know this is happening. I'm here. This is here and now. I'm here.

-Dude, are you?