The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death

AS NORMAL AS IT GETS

– Motherfucker!

– So is this covered by workmens comp?

– Motherfucker!

– I mean, if I get beat to crap by the competition, are my medical expenses taken care of? Missed wages? All that shit?

Po Sin drove one-handed, hammering his fist against the roof of the van.

– Mother! Fucker!

He pulled the van into the lot of a two-story strip mall, put it in park, got out and walked into a liquor store stationed between a nail salon and a Pi-lates studio, just under an auto insurance office. I watched him through the glass as he walked to the snack rack and started grabbing things, his lips ceaselessly moving.

Motherfucker! Motherfucker! Motherfucker!

He came out a moment later, got in the van, dropped a sack full of junk food between our seats, ripped open a bag of puffy Cheetos, put it in his lap and started shoving them in his mouth as we pulled back onto Santa Monica Boulevard.

– Moferfuther!

Orange crumbs sprayed the inside of the windshield.

– Mofufer!

I poked a finger in the sack of chips and beef sticks and snack cakes.

– Feeling a little anxious, Po Sin?

He wiped orange dust from his finger onto his pants.

– Fuck you, Web. And, yes, I am. I am a stress eater, OK. When I am stressed I lose composure and self-control and I eat compulsively. Thats what happens. Youve seen me, right? You see how fucking fat I am, right? You think this shit just happens? It doesnt. I dont have a fucking thyroid problem here, I eat too much and I eat junk food. And I eat more when stressed. And Im stressed right now. OK? OK? OK?

I leaned away from the crumbs and the spittle filling the air between us.

– Yeah, OK, I get it. Youre stressed. You got a right to be. I understand. Hey Im stressed, too. Which, you know, I think makes a lot of sense in this scenario. Seeing as I was the one who got his face beaten in by your goddamn nephew. Oh, and by the way, I couldnt help but notice that the van he and his friends took off in had been recently vandalized in the same shade of yellow paint that Gabe had under his fingernails this morning. Not that I think the two things are related or anything. Not that I think Ive landed in the middle of some kind of dead-body-cleanup range war or anything like that.

He hammered the roof again.

– Fucking Morton! Fucking guild!

– Yes, the guild, interesting that you should mention that. So happens that Bang brought that up while we were chatting. I must confess that I was at something of a loss when the topic came about. Somewhat in the dark, as it were. Perhaps you might fucking enlighten my ass.

He jerked the van to a stop at a red light and turned to me.

– His name is Dingbang, not Bang. It was his grandfathers name. Ding-bang, not Bang.

I folded my arms and put my feet on the dash.

– As long as he doesnt beat me up anymore, he can call himself whatever he wants.

Po Sin snapped his fingers.

– Feet, feet.

– Yes, they are, right there at the bottoms of my legs.

– Off the dash.

I shook my head.

– Uh-uh. Consider it getting my ass kicked for the job tax.

He put more Cheetos in his mouth.

The light changed and we moved forward and I looked at the road ahead.

– Hey hey. Hey where are we going?

– Sherman Oaks.

I took my feet off the dash and pointed at the road.

– But why are we going this way?

– Because its fastest. Why do you care?

– No, Highland to the 101 is faster.

– No its not. Not where were headed.

– Here, turn here!

He kept going straight.

– Fuck, Po Sin, you needed to turn there.

He crumpled the empty Cheetos bag and dropped it in the grocery sack.

– Chill out, Web, this is the way to go. Whats your fucking problem?

– Nothing. I just think my way is faster.

He pulled a tube of Pringles from the sack.

– Well youre wrong. Laurel Canyon is the way to go.

I didnt say anything, just put another mark down on the tally sheet, one more point scored by God in our ongoing game of Whos the Bigger Dick.

And we twisted up through the canyon of my childhood, passing the curve, the decisive landmark in Chevs life, me fingering the hundred-dollar bills in my pocket.

Casa Vega is dark as hell.

Im only guessing about that, mind you, but Im pretty certain that combination of blackness, dimly illuminated by red glass-filtered candlelight, is the precise effect that would really go in Hades.

Except I doubt they have nachos and margaritas there.

We felt our way past the bar and into the dining room, Po Sin apparently guided by second sight, or an interior compass that always reads true to hot ceramic platters heaped with chili relleno. At the back, under one of the nicer bullfighters on black velvet Ive come across, we found Gabe in a red leather booth, his black jacket on against the blasting AC, tie knotted, sunglasses on his face.

We slipped into the booth and he gestured at the food.

– I ordered.

Po Sin grabbed a fork and started digging into a beef-stuffed bell pepper covered in melted cheese.

– Thanks.

Gabe looked at me.

– Eat something. Its good.

I pointed at my face.

– Yeah, Im sure it is, but aside from the fact that chewing sounds like a bad idea right now, I just dont like eating in an environment where I cant see my fork coming at my face. This crazy fear of stabbing myself in the eye.

Po Sin grabbed my plate and pulled it in front of him.

– Fine by me.

I took a chip from the basket on the table and tried nibbling the corner and the salt got in the cut inside my mouth and I winced and picked up one of the margaritas Gabe had got for us and took a big swallow, but I didnt see the salt all over the rim because it was so fucking dark and that really hurt like a son of a bitch.

– Son of a bitch!

Gabe pushed a water glass my way.

– Sorry about that. Didnt know if you liked them with or without.

I filled my mouth with cold water and swished it around, and that hurt, too.

– Crap.

I looked at Po Sin as he mopped his first plate with a tortilla.

– So look, man, I dont want to be ungrateful for the dinner I cant eat or anything, but are we at the part where I get to know what the fuck, or what?

He scooped guacamole onto a chip.

– Yeah, were there. Were there.

He ate the chip. And then a couple more. Gabe sat behind his sunglasses.

I slapped the table.

– So what the fuck then? Whats the deal? What the hell is the guild? Whatwhatwhat?

Po Sin wiped his lips with a red napkin.

– Aftershock.

– Huh?

– Aftershock is the name of another trauma cleaner. They have a lot of contracts, mostly on the west side. Hotels, office buildings, property management. And they get most of the law enforcement referrals over there. Cops, sheriffs deputies, theyre at the scene of a violent crime, someone asks them, How do I clean this up? My baby Huey my little boy was shot here, how do I clean it up? Baby Huey, mind you, is six and a half feet and over three hundred pounds and hes bled all over the house after getting shot on the porch by the guy who used to be his best friend before one of them fucked the other ones baby mama or some such crap. So the law officer suggests a reliable trauma cleaner who will come in and take care of the situation.

I found a paper-wrapped straw on the table and unpeeled it.

– And he gets a bribe for doing it.

Po Sin waved a finger in the air.

– Its not a bribe. Its a referral fee.

– Its illegal as hell.

– It is that, but it is not a bribe.

I dipped the straw in my margarita and took a sip.

– And the guild?

He lined up the second plate of chili relleno.

– The guild is a racket. Guy who owns Aftershock, Morton, is trying to get all the cleaners to join a guild. Guild will distribute jobs and contracts. Set prices. Broker health coverage, that kind of shit. The more cleaners he can get to sign on, the more pressure he can put on the remaining independents. They dont join, theyre gonna have to find a way to live off the scraps of jobs that dont go through the guild.

– And you dont want to join an organization that will help to set the market in your favor and allow you to pool resources because?

He licked his fork clean and set it in the middle of his equally clean plate.

– Because its a scam, Web. Because the work wont be distributed throughout the guild equally. Because its set up so that Morton is the president and administrator of the guild, which, seeing as he owns Aftershock, is a rather large conflict of interest. Because the jobs come in and he assigns two out of every three to his own fucking company. So, what, I join and give the guild access to my contracts and contacts, my 7-Eleven gig, my Hyatt contract, my Amtrak deal, all my public housing call-lists, I hand that all to the guild and then what? Fucking Morton takes the sweetest plums for himself and I have to wait and get some shit call to clean up in front of a gas station where a dog got hit by some old lady who couldnt see over the steering wheel.

He propped an elbow on the table and jabbed a finger at me.

– Clean Team is my business. I created it. I built it. I made the contacts and sweated the contracts. Someone calls me, they know what theyre getting. Twenty-four hours a day that goddamn phone is on. Someone calls, they have trouble, theyre in pain, someone they love has died messy and they are traumatized, I pick up that phone any hour of the day or night. I talk to them civil and gentle. I come as soon as I can. I tell them straight what is involved and what it will cost. The job is harder, takes longer than I thought, costs me more than I estimated, thats my problem, I eat the loss. Thats my reputation. Doing the job the way it should be done, thats all I do. And that is worth something.

He leaned in, the tabletop tilting slightly under his weight. I remained very still, having, not for the first time, a sudden awareness of his crushing bulk.

– And I dont give that to anyone. What is in my house is mine. Who is in my house I take care of. My name, my reputation, those are in my house, those are for the well-being of my family. And I will not have my house fucked with.

He inhaled through his nose, a long wheeze, and leaned back into the depths of the booth.

– Especially not by an asshole like Morton.

I poked my straw into the melting ice at the bottom of my margarita glass.

– OK, then can you advise me as to how you will be making allowances to ensure I wont be getting beaten again? Because a police complaint is sounding like a pretty good strategy to me.

Po Sin looked at Gabe. Gabe looked at something, but I dont know what, all I could see was darkness and tiny red flames reflected in his glasses.

Po Sin picked up his margarita and drained half of it.

– The thing you have to remember here, Web, this isnt what youd call a heavily regulated industry. They set the bar pretty low. Two hundred bucks, proof of a fixed address, and a contract with a licensed hazardous waste disposal company is all you need to be a certified trauma cleaner.

My eyebrows went up.

– Bullshit.

– No bullshit at all. You got employees, you have to pass an OSHA class, but thats it. So, see, you get a mixed bag of types drawn to the trade. At worst, mostly, you get people who are just fucking incompetent and lazy. They give the trade a bad name, but they also go out of business pretty fast. But there is a higher class of worst-case scenario, because some folks are just plain crooked as hell. Whether that means overbilling or maybe cutting corners on a job, whatever. Kind of stuff that Deputy Mercer was talking about with Aftershock. Worser case, you get some straight-up thieves. Go into a house, take advantage of being there while the family is staying in a motel because they dont want to look at the bloodstain that used to be daddy, and they clean it out. Family says, Wheres the TV, wheres the stereo, wheres my stamp collection? These guys say, Oh, that stuff, it was all contaminated, had to be disposed. Contaminated? Shit was on the second floor at the back of a house where daddy did himself in the downstairs bathroom. Or maybe your aunt dies, chokes on her chocolate-covered cherries, lays there for a week with her Pekinese so hungry it takes a few nibbles. These guys come in, they do a great job with the cleaning, youre happy as hell with the deal. Two months later, new charges start showing up on aunties credit cards. Stuff like that, wed like it to stop. But wed also like it not to have too bright a light shined upon it. Those kind of stories get too much coverage, thats bad for everyones business.

I scooped some ice from my glass and put it in the middle of one of the red napkins and folded the material around it and pressed it to the knot on my forehead.

– Yeah, OK, no cops. So Im still waiting for the part where you guys stop trading paint bombs and I dont have to be freaked about this shit happening to me again.

Gabes phone beeped once. He took it from the clip on his belt, looked at the face, put it back on his belt and nodded at Po Sin.

Po Sin rubbed his nose.

– OK, youve got a handle on that first part. And yeah, theres also been some intimidation happening. Vandalization. Like the paint on the van. Also, job calls come in, you show up at the address and what do you find? Find a vacant lot, find a Chinese caterer where theres supposed to be a private residence. Dont have to think hard to figure who made the call, whos wasting your time and effort. Shit goes back and forth for a few months now. Some tit for tat. The guild trying to show us whos boss. Us showing them we dont work for no one. But you getting beat on, that was new. That was an escalation.

– Oh, lucky fucking me, breaking new ground.

He raised his hand and a waiter materialized from the gloom and placed a check on the table.

– Im guessing that was my prick nephew at work.

I took the ice from my forehead.

– Youre guessing? Man, I already told you it was him.

He placed some money on the check.

– Im saying that was probably his own thing. Like he was pissed about being fired, went running to Aftershock. I know Morton, he was more than happy to hire the punk. See what kind of dirt he can dig up on how we go about our business. Maybe find out we cut some corner he can go to the Better Business Bureau about. Fortunately, the kid knows fuckall. But he probably took it personal you were working his old job. Probably decided hed show his value to his new employer by going the extra yard.

He took his glasses off and rubbed his face up and down.

– So now we have to sort it out, make sure things dont get out of hand.

– Yes, yes, do that, sort it out before it gets out of hand, before, I dont know, before someone gets beaten up or something.

He put his glasses back on.

– You know, Web, you dont want to be involved in any of this, you dont have to be. Its as easy as saying youre done with the job.

I took a chip from the basket and broke it in half.

– I know.

He took one of his empty plates by the rim and rotated it a few degrees, back and forth.

– So are you? Done with it?

I thought about that; not liking it much when someone pounds on me, I thought about it pretty hard. I thought about chilling out, like I had been for a year. I thought about hanging at the apartment. Sleeping. A lot. I thought about the slender thread dangling my friendship with Chev. And what would happen when it broke. And how much strain Id already put on it.

I thought about the things Id thought about most that last year, and how little Id thought about them the last couple days when Id actually had something to do.

I crushed the chip and watched the crumbs fall into the basket.

– No, Im not done with it.

He pushed the table away, making room to rise.

– So lets go then.

I got up and trailed them to the door.

– Where are we going?

Gabe opened the door on the relative brightness of Ventura Boulevard at night. Po Sin went out and passed his parking ticket to the valet.

– Were going to a sit-down with Morton and his Aftershock captains. Make sure we all understand theres limits here. Things we cant be doing without causing trouble for everyone.

I waved my hand.

– I dont want to meet those assholes. I sure as shit dont want to see Dingbang.

The valet drove up in the van and Po Sin slipped him a couple bucks.

– Not to worry, youre not invited.

– OK, so whos taking me home?

He stood aside from the van and gestured at the open door.

– Youre not going home, youre going to my shop.

– What? I thought you said I could clean it tomorrow.

– I did. You can. Or you can start tonight. I just need you there.

The valet parked Gabes Cruiser behind the van and Gabe got behind the wheel.

Po Sin held up a finger to him and looked at me.

– Dingbang has keys to the shop.

– So let him clean it tonight.

– Web, Dingbang has keys to the shop and I havent had the locks changed yet.

It took a second. I like to think Im smart, but still it took a second. Then I got it.

– Fuck that!

He ran a knuckle over his moustache.

– Listen. Listen up here. Were gonna go talk to these guys. Have a couple beers at a place not far from here. Its nothing. Its exactly what they say it is. A negotiation to make sure no one gets carried away. But Gabe, hes a little more cautious than I am, a little less trusting, and he thinks they could use this as a way to be sure the shop is empty. Go in there and mess shit up.

– I know, I get it. Thats why I said fuck that.

– Its not gonna happen. OK? All you do is go in, turn on all the lights and hang out. Clean if you want, or watch the TV in the office. Dick around on the computer. Nothing is going to happen.

– Then I dont have to be there.

He looked over at Gabe, back at me.

– I know, youre right, but it will give Gabe a little peace of mind. And one of the things I pay him for is so he has peace of mind. Because when he has peace of mind, I know everything is cool with everything. Make sense?

I shrugged.

– Sure, makes sense. Im still not gonna sit there and wait for Dingbang to show and kick my ass again.

– Dingbang will be at the sit-down. To be disciplined. That was part of the deal. And even if someone comes by, the second they see the lights on, see someone in there, theyll take off. No one is looking to hurt anyone.

What happened to you was the exception.

– Maaaaan. Crap.

He took me by the elbow.

– Web, this isnt a regular job. This is not nine to five. We clean blood and brains. We scrub shit. We vacuum maggot shells. We inhale gas from rotting corpses. This is not a regular job. And you will rarely be asked to do regular shit if you hang around. Sitting watch on the shop for the night, thats about as normal as it gets. Make sense?

I looked at Gabe, waiting to roll. I looked at the valet, waiting for us to get the fuck out of the way so he could bring the next car around. I looked at Po Sin, waiting for me to do or be something I didnt quite get.

I nodded.

– Makes sense.

He let go of my elbow.

– Then get in the van and get over there.

I got in the van.

– Web!

I looked out the window, he stood in the open passenger door of the Cruiser. -Anything does happen, call nine one one.

I shook my head.

– Yeah, that I can manage.

He waved and got in the car. Gabe nodded at me through the windshield, and tossed me a slight salute.

The man paid to have peace of mind.

Where do I get that fucking job?