The Mystic Arts Of Erasing All Signs Of Death Part 53

Gabe lifted his bottle, took a drink.

-It doesn't work like that, Web.

-I know. But.

-I said, It doesn't work like that, Web. It doesn't work like that, Web.

I looked at him.

He nodded.

-This is how it works. You ask someone for a favor.

He pointed at himself and Po Sin.

-And they come and do you a favor.

He moved his beer over the surface of the table, leaving a smear of moisture.

-They swing their weight behind you and give your actions gravity. They do things.

He wiped the smear away with the edge of his hand.

-You left the room. You could have stayed. You chose not to. Now you have to live with the consequences of leaving that room. The biggest of those is, you don't know what happened. After you leave the room, it's no longer your business. You want to know what price is paid in this world, you need to be there when the deal goes down.

He trained his lenses on me.

-That s.h.i.t, whatever it is we may think we're taking about, it never even happened.

He got up.

-I'm gonna go shoot a rack.

He walked to the pool table at the back of the Monday night empty bar and started dropping quarters in.

Po Sin rattled the ice in his gla.s.s.

-He has a way of summing s.h.i.t up.

He sipped, swallowed, looked over his shoulder at Gabe, and leaned close.

-s.h.i.t needs to be done sometimes, Web. I'm not saying it's the way the world should be, not saying it's the world I want my kids to be in, but this life we're in, you don't end up doing this kind of work because everything went the way it was supposed to. You're doing work like we do, it's because some s.h.i.t got f.u.c.ked up. That means things behind you, you don't always want them coming to the light. Further you go into this kind of job, more people you meet, more of them you find just like you. Secrets. Skeletons. Coworkers. Compet.i.tors. Clients. Secrets start cropping up. Know what I mean?

Did I know what he meant? s.h.i.t yes. I was hip deep in what he meant.

Which he already knew.

So he kept talking without me giving an answer.

-What no one wants is for the secrets to start coming out into the open. Guys like we were just talking about, they can make things come to light. Just by being around and getting involved in your life, they can cause all kinds of s.h.i.t to unnecessarily become unhinged. So we did what we do.

He gulped the last of his drink.

-We cleaned s.h.i.t up.

He set the empty gla.s.s in front of me.

-Like the man said, you wanted to know, all you had to do was stay in the room.

I looked at the gla.s.s.

-That's the thing.

I looked at him.

-I don't want to leave the room. Po Sin, man, honestly, even if I did want to, I'm not sure I could find the door. But. That doesn't even matter. Because.

I shook my head.

-I love this s.h.i.t.

I raised a hand.

-I liked teaching. I did. But I love love this s.h.i.t. It's like, man, it's like I found my calling. It's like if I took one of those employment placement tests we gave the kids in junior high. this s.h.i.t. It's like, man, it's like I found my calling. It's like if I took one of those employment placement tests we gave the kids in junior high. You should be a scientist, an insurance adjuster, a flight attendant. You should be a scientist, an insurance adjuster, a flight attendant. When I took that test, it said I should be a structural engineer. But this, this is like if that test said, When I took that test, it said I should be a structural engineer. But this, this is like if that test said, You shall be a crime scene cleaner, Webster Fillmore Goodhue, and you shall like it well. You shall be a crime scene cleaner, Webster Fillmore Goodhue, and you shall like it well. It just fits. It fits me. This is what I want to do, man. It just fits. It fits me. This is what I want to do, man.

I lifted my beer.

-I want to clean up after dead people.

-Hey yo.

We looked at the bartender.

-You guys come over in that van?

Po Sin started to rise.

-It getting a ticket?

-No.

Po Sin started to sit.

-Good. That would have been a p.i.s.ser.

The bartender pointed out the swinging saloon door.

-But looks like it's on fire.

The Lost and Found is in a strip mall at the corner of National and South Barrington. That far west, that close to their place of business, it was probably a provocation. But that wasn't the kind of thing I could be expected to know. Po Sin and Gabe, I guess they just wanted to go to one of their favorite bars.

We came out the swinging door into a small parking lot illuminated by the flames pouring from the shattered windows of the van. Morton's crew was already piling back into a silver Pathfinder. Morton was on the sidewalk with an ax handle. Dingbang just behind him, jumping up and down, jabbing a finger at us as we came out.

-'Bout that s.h.i.t? Huh, motherf.u.c.kers? 'Bout that s.h.i.t?

Morton raised the ax handle and pointed it at Po Sin.

-Had it coming. We were under truce, you pulled that s.h.i.t. Had this coming.

Gabe started across the lot.

Po Sin grabbed him.

-Cool it. He's right.

He pulled Gabe back to his side.

-Deal with this later.

Dingbang bounced higher.

-'Bout that? f.u.c.k with the best, get f.u.c.ked in the a.s.s like the rest.

Po Sin raised his voice over the flames.

-Shut up, Dingbang.

-Bang! Bang!

Morton raised the ax handle over his head.

-You are done, Chinaman. You and your n.i.g.g.e.r. Gonna squeeze you right out of business.

Dingbang pumped a fist.

-Right out of business!

-Motherf.u.c.ker!

Po Sin started toward them.

-You're a disgrace, Dingbang!

-Bang!

-A wart. Your dad is a jailbird, but at least he has half a brain. At least he never let himself get used against his own family by some whitea.s.s motherf.u.c.ker.

He pointed at Morton.

-f.u.c.k this midget. I'm gonna kill you. I'm gonna take the stain off my family. If I got dead ancestors watching, they are gonna be laughing their a.s.ses off tonight. I'm gonna improve the gene pool, Dingbang.

-Bangbangbang!

-Motherf.u.c.kermotherf.u.c.kermotherf.u.c.ker!

He charged, Morton and Dingbang reeling back from him as his shadow fell over them.

Then he stopped, a monster in silhouette against the fire, and his hand came up and he grabbed his left shoulder.

-Oh. Motherf.u.c.ker.

And he was falling.

Gabe got there first. Then me. Then Dingbang. The Pathfinder squealed away.

Dingbang kneeled and cried.

-Uncle. Uncleuncleuncle.

Sirens on National Boulevard.

EPILOGUE.

The ghetto birds are buzzing over Hollywood.

I look up from under the hood and watch two of them as they cut diagonals against the grid of streets below. I set the socket wrench on the fender and walk down to the foot of the driveway and shade my eyes.

One of the LAPD copters freezes. The other tilts slightly into the wind and zips west. Sirens break out on Highland. Glancing down the street, I can see two squad cars run the light several blocks away. I take my new cell from my pocket and make sure it's on. More sirens on Sunset. I look up to where the first copter hovers. Not too far away, no more than a mile. I think about walking over, take out my wallet and look inside and find I have no cards. c.r.a.p. I walk back up the driveway. If it's something I should know about, I'll get a call. Deputy Mercer will give me a ring and give the victims a referral. Right now the starter is more important than drumming up business.

I get my head back under the hood and pull the last plug and wipe it clean. I squat and find the gapper in Chev's toolbox and fit the proper hoop of steel into the plug's spark gap. Too wide. Like the others. I press the top of the plug against the pavement, closing the gap, and check it again. The gapper pa.s.ses in and out of the gap with a slight tug. I rise and replace the plug.

The tone of the helicopter's chop shifts, and I look up again and watch it through a screen of ficus branches as it wheels and heads east toward K-town or Rampart or Boil Heights or Skid Row, where it no doubt has more pressing business than sitting watch on a Hollywood crime scene in the middle of the day.

I mark its path, trace it back to where it had hovered.

There's a ninety-nine-cent store over there. I could take a look. Stop at the store and pick up the stuff we'll need tonight.

I bend and start picking up tools, making a mental shopping list as I go.

Scotch-Brite pads.