The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death

HINTERLANDS

– What are you staring at, asshole?

– Nothing.

Thats what I said. What I was in fact staring at was the gun. The gun hed gotten from Soledad. The nine-millimeter hed gotten from Soledad.

I looked at him.

– Im not staring at anything.

I started the Apache and turned us around.

– What now?

He took the papers hed gotten from Homero and slipped them inside the envelope.

– Now we cruise over to Terminal F and check out the can.

I pulled to a stop at Ferry.

– Really?

He bapped my forehead with the documents.

– No, asshole, Im jerking your chain because I want to spent more time in your company. Yes, really.

He held up the papers.

– That was what Homero was doing, getting the export order changed so we can get that can back.

– What about the buyer?

– What? Fuck him. Some Chink? Fuck does he know? Not like hes paid yet. Verbal agreement means shit. Hell, in my line, a contract barely means shit. Nothing is nothing till the cash is in your hand.

He fingered the papers.

– Think of it, maybe I should get him to front some of the money for the almonds.

I shook my head.

– No way, man. No more complications. Im gonna pay you off. But thats it. No double dipping. No shenanigans.

– Shenanigans? -Yeah, it means.

– I know what the fuck it means, Im just trying to figure how someone born this side of a Lucky Charms commercial thinks its OK to talk like that.

I pointed up and down the street.

– Just tell me which way to the can.

He pointed toward a smaller terminal, beyond a series of huge blue sheds connected by an enclosed conveyer belt through which petroleum coke was being moved to a container vessel.

– Over yonder, at the foot of that there rainbow well find me pot-o-gold.

I put the truck in gear. More than slightly delighted at the prospect that getting the truck was going to be considerably less trouble than Id been afraid of.

Of such delights are dreams made.

Parked just under the 710, we watched the uniformed officers of Customs and Border Protection, plainclothes detectives from Immigration and Customs Enforcement a well-armed Anti-Terrorism Contraband Enforcement Team, and members of the Long Beach Harbor Patrol as they systematically and, I must say, quite efficiently impounded every last bit of cargo on Terminal F that had any association with Westline Freight Forwarding.

I pointed at a can.

– That one?

– No.

I pointed at another can.

– That one?

– No.

I pointed at another can.

– That one?

Jaime scooted further down in his seat as another CBP car rolled past us and through the gate.

– No, thats not our can. And why the fuck do you care at this point?

I shrugged.

– I dont know, I just thought itd be nice to know where that pot-o-gold is.

He peeked over the edge of the window frame and pointed.

– That one. OK, asshole? Can we leave now? I mean, before someone comes over and asks what the hell were doing here?

I waved a hand at the other cars parked on the edge of the road, the assortment of rubberneckers taking in the spectacle of our governments law enforcement community in the act of seizing control of the assets of what was, I gather, a rather extensive smuggling operation.

– So when you said that everyone knew Westin Nye was the man to talk to when you needed something shipped on the sly out of the Port of L.B., you really meant everyone.

One of the officers walked to the can Jaime had indicated to me. He inspected a seal, checked it against a clipboard in his hand, set the clipboard aside, and popped the seal.

Jaime dropped low again.

– Fuckfuckfuck.

The officer picked up his clipboard and looked from it to the stacked boxes inside.

I scratched my chin.

– So, what do you figure? They must have been onto Nye for a while. You think they had this planned, or did they decide to make a move after he killed himself?

– I dont fucking know, man. Can we just get the hell out of here? Can we just. Oh fuck!

He was looking at the envelope of documents in his lap.

– Fuck, I got to get rid of these.

He pulled the papers out and stuck them through the window.

I grabbed his wrist.

– Hang on, man.

– Hang on, my ass. I cant get caught with these.

I pointed at the officers and the plainclothes agents again.

– Dude, maybe throwing a sheaf of incriminating shipping documents out the window across the street from a huge smuggling bust is a bad call.

He pulled his hand back inside.

– OK, OK, but get us the fuck out of here.

I looked one last time at the scene, then put the Apache in gear and pulled into the road and turned around.

I hooked my thumb back at the load of almonds.

– By the way?

– Yeah?

– Once we gave them the paperwork and whatnot and they released the container?

– Yeah?

– Where were we going to get a truck, and do you know how to drive one?

He scooted lower in his seat.

– Just shut the fuck up.

– Ill take that as, it never even occurred to you.

– Harris has a truck and a driver.

– Yeah, but I just noticed hes not with us.

– Asshole, I know. I wanted to make sure they had the can out of the stacks and on a chassis and ready to roll. Far as Harris goes, all we needed to give him was these papers.

I paused at a stop sign.

– They would have gone for that?

He stared at the papers in his hand.

– Never gonna know now. Shit. Cost me a fucking G. Never gonna see that cash again.

I pointed us back at the 47.

– Jaime, not that I want to bother you with details at a time like this, but I think youre missing the point here.

He shook his head.

– No, man, I aint forgot, I know this also means Im out the twenty-two.

I didnt bother to make my point more clear. I mean, why bother? I was gonna force him to help me get his sister back no matter what, so why not let him wallow in his own misery for a while?

Someone screamed, more people screamed. I looked back at the terminal and saw a handful of small ragged men and women scattering from one of the cans, more of them popping from its top, the assorted officers of the law chasing them, brandishing arms and yelling commands. Something fell from the top of the fence along the road, got up and sprinted in front of us and I pounded the brake to keep from running over the fleeing Chinese boy in filthy clothes. A siren fired up and a LBHP vehicle took off after him.

Jaime shook his head.

– Fuckin’ Chink wetbacks, man. Two weeks in a can and take their chances on the other side.

He pointed at the terminal where the CBP officers had the illegals down on the ground.

– Soledads old man, he liked to have a finger in every pie, man.

– Cops? Why the fuck would you call the cops?

I fingered my knife and thought about sticking it in his ear. But it was plastic and would probably break before it went deep enough to hit his brain. And beside, even if I jammed it in there, I was uncertain it would do any real damage.

– No, youre right, Jamie, come to think of it, kidnapping is really more of a matter for the FBI.

– The FBI? Why would you want to call them?

I looked at my plastic fork, thought about jabbing him in the eye with it to get him to focus for a second. I settled for talking slowly instead.

– Jaime, Im not saying I want to call the FBI. Im saying I will call them if you dont help me.

He took another bite of the crappy diner burrito one should expect when one orders Mexican food at a place called Jims Burgers.

– Fuck should I help you? Youre threatening to call the cops on me.

– Other than the brotherly desire to help your sister?

I poked at my own burrito with the plastic fork.

– Theres the added incentive that Ill still give you the money.

His ears jumped up a half inch and rotated slightly in my direction.

– Money?

– Help me with this, and Ill still give it to you.

He stuffed the last bite of greasy burrito in his mouth.

– Come on, man, there was never any question about me helping out. I mean, you want to give me the cash, Ill take it, but its not like I was gonna let Soledad be fucked up or anything.

I nodded.

– Naturally. How could there be any question of that.

I got up from the table.

– Im gonna make a call.

He wiped his mouth and got up.

– Take your time, Im gonna get some of that action.

He headed for the aging Mortal Kombat machine at the back of the diner, and I headed for the door and out to the parking lot.

If not for the cranes on the skyline, the corner of Anaheim and North Henry Ford could be in any corroding stretch of the rustbelt. I stood in the middle of the lot and watched a driver pull his truck into one of the stalls at the wash and start hosing the road film off his Peterbilt. Another driver, done with the wash, ambled across the lot to Dreams, the obligatory strip club. I wondered if the same hooker thatd serviced L.L. still worked this spot. Shed be long in the tooth, but that wasnt much of an impairment in this locale. It would likely take a head-to-toe outer coat of leprosy to keep a working girl from scoring a date here at the northeastern rim of the Port.

And more than that to keep L.L. from giving her a try.

The hinterlands of the far western edge of the world, Web. I tell you, if Id been on my toes, those years I wasted teaching I would have spent here learning something about myself. This is a place to test the limits of a man. His endurance and fortitude, his ability to stare into the abyss and have it stare back into him. Look at it, grotesque and magnificenti A paved waste of trade and industry. The end of the road for America, Web. The jumping point to other, older cultures. Inhale. Breathe deep. Smell that? Smell the sea air tainted by oil and gas fumes? Thats what the world smelled like when life was first being formed. A place for new beginnings, son, a place to find out who you are. Here, pass me another of those Lцwenbrдus.

The edge of the world.

What better place to try and turn yourself around?

So I began trying to execute a U-turn at a very narrow part of the road, with oncoming traffic.

I took the phone Harris had given me from my pocket and dialed.

– Clean Team.

– Hey Po Sin, its me.

– Young Web. It seems like only yesterday you were falling asleep on the job and letting my van be stolen. Wait, it was only yesterday. My, how time does fly. What can I do for you today?

I scuffed at some gravel, looked around at one of the garden spots of my childhood in L.L.s care, thought about the casual damage we inflict on each other by waking up and being ourselves.

– Po Sin.

– Still here.

– Po Sin. I left the office. I was back at the office when the van was stolen. But I lied about leaving.

Po Sin is a vast man, capable of vast silences. He put one on display for me. I waited for it to drift past, but didnt have the time.

– Po Sin?

– Im here.

– Im sorry, man. Im sorry I didnt do my job.

There followed a sigh I thought might go on forever.

Eventually it ended.

– My kids, Web.

– Yeah.

– They need a lot of help. Yong, well, what can I say. Thats going to be our whole lives, helping him. And Xing? Its impossible to give her the attention she deserves because of Yong. So she tries to get it other ways.

– I know.

– And theyre expensive as hell. Kids always are. Care for Yong, therapy, the tutors, Jesus, you have no clue.

– Sure.

– Sure. Web. Thanks for the apology.

– I. Please dont thank me.

– Web. I said, Thanks for the cifology. And now you say?

– Youre welcome?

– Something like that. So, my kids are expensive and hard work. So, I dont have time for another one. Especially not one who costs me more money by fucking up. Understand?

– Yeah.

– Time to grow up, man. Yeah?

– Yeah. I seem to be hearing that from a lot of people lately.

– Could be theres a reason for that.

– Yeah.

– OK. Well, one way or another, well deal with the van. After the little errand you and Gabe did last night, I dont think Ill be talking Morton into returning it, but it was insured. In the end, itll cost me some hassle and a little higher premium. And better to bring the shit with Morton to a head now than later. Not that any of that is meant to make you feel better, but thats about how it sizes up. That it? Got it all off your chest?

I looked around me, saw the horizon, the place where the ocean spilled over the sharp edge of a flat world, the sucking drain that flood would draw me into if I didnt get turned about soon.

And I cranked the wheel hard over.

– Its not just that I left the office. I left the office and got into some stupid shit. And thats why the van was stolen. Morton didnt steal it. Some other guys did. Some really dangerous guys. They have it.

No pause this time.

– Motherfucker!

– They have it and they have something else.

– Motherfucker! -They have the girl.

– Motherfucker what?

– Po Sin, they have Soledad. And I want to help her. And.

– Motherfucker.

– And I need your help.

Which, when you think about it, wasnt the kind of request youd expect would make him pause again, as opposed to continuing to say his favorite word when called upon to express how near he was to a stroke.

But it did.

And we had a conversation. And I promised to call again soon. And then I made another call, this one yet more pleasant. If you can imagine bliss.

– Hi, is Soledad there?

– What?

– Can I talk to Soledad, please?

– Who is this?

– Its the guy you sent to get your almonds.

– The what? Oh, right. Hey Harris, its the guy.

The phone on the other end was fumbled around.

– You got my can?

A tricky question given the circumstances, but I was prepared.

– Were ready to make the swap.

– Whos we?

– Me and Jaime.

– That jackass? Didnt say a word about that jackass bein’ involved.

– No, you didnt, but you did tell me to get you your can and your almonds, and seeing as I had no clue what you were talking about, I thought it best I involve someone with some expertise on the subject.

– Hn. Funny.

I watched Jaime through the smeared window glass of Jims, as his Mortal Kombat fighter pulled out the spine of its opponent.

– Whats funny?

– Funny you didnt mouth off like that when you were in the same room with me.

– Well, I can explain that. See, you were in the same room with me, and you had a gun, that inspired me to pretty much keep my mouth shut. Now, in this case, Im on a phone, so its a slightly different situation and Im feeling less inclined to worry about you shooting me if I say the wrong thing. Seeing as you cant and all.

– Hn. Yeah, mouthin’ off. OK, well, youre right, cant do nothin’ ‘bout that over this phone. Not to you anyway. If you can follow that without it bein’ spelled for you.

Having been a teacher, I didnt need it spelled for me.

– I understand.

– Good, ‘cause without you here in person for me to take my aggression out on, I might need to settle for whats at hand.

– I said, I understand.

– Good. So, spose you want to talk to your girl.

– Shes not really my girl.

– Not the picture she paints.

I stopped walking nervous circles around a garbage can.

– Really? Like, what did she say?

– You can ask when you get here with the almonds.

– You just said I could talk to my girl.

– No, I said, spose youd like to talk with your girl. Way you do that is to get over here with my can. ‘Sides, just said shes not your girl.

– I know what I said.

– So, whats to talk with her?

– Just tell me where to go.

He told me and I let my jaw drop the appropriate amount.

– Youre fucking kidding me.

– Hell would I be kidding you?

I scooped my jaw up.

– No reason. Anyway, its not you, its just God playing fun with me.

– Boy.

– Yeah.

– Dont go making jokes about God with me. I dont have that kind of humor.

– No. I didnt think you did.

– And tell that jackass Jaime, he dont come up with what he owes us for the room here and our meals, this whole things gonna go up in his face.

And he hung up.

I closed the phone, looked back through the window at Jaime, still pumping his fist with every ripped limb, and walked down to the edge of the parking lot and looked west up Anaheim.

I looked back inside Jims to make sure Jaime was well stocked with quarters, and then walked a couple blocks along Anaheim to Flint and took a left at the used-truck lot; a dirt yard fenced with corrugated steel and barbwire, filled with big rigs. Less than a block down from there, past a row of turquoise stucco bungalows, I found the Harbor Inn. I walked down the alley that ran along the north side and looked at a back wall dotted with little bathroom windows. I continued down the alley that wrapped around the whole building. No doors other than the emergency exit at the back. The Harbor Inn, a long two-story corridor of rooms, windows on the outer walls. I looked at the rear southeast corner, on the ground floor. I looked down another alley that ran away to the east, a passage of ridged cargo container steel, chopped from abandoned cans. I walked back to the street. Looked at the road-beaten rig with Yosemite Sam painted on the hood parked at the curb across the street between two campers. I nodded at the guy standing out front of the Inn with a Heineken in his one hand and a Tijuana Bible in the other.

The first thing I noticed about holding a gun for the first time in my life was that the damn thing was heavy. The second thing was that shaking it and just kind of handling it didnt make any noise like it does in the movies and on TV where youd swear guns must be full of little tiny moving parts that click and rattle all the time. A real gun only makes noise when you do something to it. Like work the slide or snap the safety off, or pull the trigger. The last thing I realized about a gun was that holding one felt seriously fucking cool and dangerous at the same time. I didnt like that feeling.

I found a button on the side of the gun that was far enough from the trigger to make me feel reasonably secure nothing terrible would happen if I pushed it. I thumbed it in and the end of the clip popped out of the bottom of the grip. I pulled it free, finding more resistance than I expected, and set the gun on the seat. One by one I flicked the bullets from the clip and into the palm of my other hand. Having seen what they do to a body I didnt much want to touch them, but I did. Once the clip was empty I dribbled the shells into the breast pocket of my bowling shirt, and then slipped it back into the gun and pressed until I felt a firm click. I had the gun back in the glove box when I remembered something from one of L.L.s screenplays. I took the gun out and looked at it. I made sure the little safety lever was firmly set to o, and, taking care to aim the damn thing out the open door of the Apache at the ground away from Jims or the truck wash or Dreams, I pulled the slide back and watched the bullet Jaime had been stupid enough to keep chambered pop out and arc behind the seat and down into the hollow where Chev stored his tool bag.

– Shit.

I gentled the slide back into place and found that the hammer was cocked. I placed my thumb over it, and, for what I swore would be the only time in my life, I pulled the trigger of a gun. Nothing happened, of course. I mean, there was a snap and the hammer came loose and I lowered it into place, but the gun didnt go off by some weird alignment of having a hidden bullet and my thumb not being strong enough to hold the hammer back or anything like that. But until I put the thing back in the glove box, I kept expecting it to fire of its own will and send a round ricocheting over the parking lot and through a window and into someone elses life.

But that didnt happen. Which was a huge relief.

Next I made a final call to Po Sin and told him what he needed to know. Beyond that information, there seemed to be little excuse for conversation. Especially seeing as he was clearly still contemplating bailing on the whole deal.

I thought it best not to think about what that could mean. And succeeded in doing so. Not thinking about bad things being a gift of mine.

Finally, I got out of the truck and walked to the storm drain in the middle of the lot and dropped the bullets down between the grates to splash into the dirty soapy runoff from the truck wash.

– Whats up?

I looked up at Jaime as he came from the diner.

I shrugged.

– Just killing time.

I started back to the truck.

– We should get going.

– Fine by me. Wheres my gun?

I got in and knocked on the glove box.

– In there. But for fuck sake dont shoot anyone with it.

He took the gun out.

– Shoot anyone? Its a gun. Thats what its for. I mean, what am I supposed to use with Harris to make him give Soledad back so I can get the fucking money you owe me?

– We dont need a gun, we have a plan.

– Fucking plan? You never told me about a plan. A gun is better than a plan. A gun is a guarantee. What you -planning to do when your flan doesnt work and you need something to persuade Harris to go along?

I took out the envelope with the shipping documents.

– I thought wed use these.

He grabbed the envelope from me and stuck it in my face.

– Asshole, they seized the terminal. The law has the almonds.

I had a sudden flashback to the classroom. The effort it could take on some days to explain rudimentary principles of the English language to twelve-year-olds.

– Jaime, I know this is an abstract concept, but follow me here. Harris, he doesnt know the almonds were seized.

– Yeah, but.

– Jaime. He. Does. Not. Know. The. Almonds. Were. Seized.

He opened his mouth. Froze. Nodded.

– Yeeeaaah, man. He doesnt know. Yeah, thats good. Hey asshole, thats really fucking good. Great twist, man, great twist.

He slapped the envelope on his thigh.

– Will it work, asshole? Will he take the papers instead of the can?

I stared at him.

– Urn, wasnt this the way it was supposed to work in the first place?

– Well yeah, but I never knew if itd really work. Think it will?

I thought about the options, couldnt come up with any in particular.

– Yeah, itll work.

– Well it doesnt work, we got the gat as backup.

– You shouldnt need the gun. All you need to do is stay out of sight.

He gave me a squint.

– Whats that stay out of sight shit?

– Im sure youll be shocked to discover that Harris doesnt like you.

– Fuck him anyway. Like I like his hick ass.

– Just so. That being the case, Id rather not have two armed men who hate each other in the same room while Im negotiating for Soledads release.

– Man, I got a stake in this.

– Yeah, its your project, I know. And your stake is guaranteed. What isnt guaranteed is that Harris will deal straight. So if things go off, I want some backup. Follow me?

He cocked an eyebrow and nodded slowly.

– Yeah, backup, I follow. I like that. Buddy cop action. 48 Hours. That works, it sells. And thats it, thats all I got to do to get my pay?

I nodded.

– Yeah. Just stay out of sight, keep your eyes open, make sure no one backdoors me while Im inside. And be ready in case I call for help.

He gave the gun a spin on his index finger.

– So we do need the gun.

– We dont need the gun. Just be ready in case I need help.

– Be ready with the gun.

– Jaime!

– Chill, chill, Im just fuckin’ with you. Ill be cool and keep my eyes open and Ill be ready. And thats all, right?

– That and be yourself.

He leaned back and tucked his hands behind his head.

– Bein’ myself is what I do best. Star quality.

He pointed at the keys in my hand.

– So we rolling or what?

I pocketed the keys.

– Naw.

– What, we just gonna sit around here?

I got out and started down the street.

– Nope. Well walk.

And we did, walked back to the Harbor Inn where the bad guys were holed up waiting for the showdown.