The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death

PIPE BOMB IN THE ASS

There was a lot of blood at the Malibu beach house. And it was everywhere. Really everywhere.

Gabe studied the thick maroon blotch at the center of a lighter red eruption splashed over the wall and headboard, all of it studded with gray and yellow and pink gobbets of dangling matter.

He fingered a strip of yellow tape, marked like a yardstick, that ran up the edge of the wall. Near the top it intersected with another piece that ran horizontally just over the highest point of the mess. He looked at that point.

– That wasnt a nine.

The deputy coughed in the doorway.

– Yeah, what we thought. But it was. He did it with a mouth full of water.

Gabe looked again at the dry blood.

– That would do it.

I thought about high school science classes. How shock waves travel through water. I thought about what would happen if you filled a soda can with water and stuck the barrel of a gun in the hole and pulled the trigger. And then the deputy filled in the gaps in my imagination. -The water shredded his cheeks. Crushed his nasal passages and ripped his nose off. Some of it was forced down his throat and it turned his tongue inside out and punched a hole in the bottom of his stomach. Goes without saying it took the whole back of his head off. Everything behind the ears.

He rapped his knuckle on the wall opposite the bed.

– Created so much pressure in his sinuses, his eyes popped out. We found one of them over here.

I looked through the open door that led to the master bath. Blood spackled the white tile and porcelain and bath towels. My reflection in the mirror over the twin sinks was glazed with dried streaks of red. Beyond, through a door at the far end of the bathroom, and let me just say that it was a really big fucking bathroom, I could see more blood spattering the carpet, chair and desk in what looked to be a small den. Small by the standards of this house, that is.

But those rooms were nothing compared with the bedroom. The bedroom looked painted in blood, but not well painted, mind you. Painted, in point of fact, by a collection of one-armed troglodytes employing bundles of reeds rather than brushes and rollers. Painted in dripping and splotchy reds, maroons and purples punctuated by bits and clots of gray and white and black, and the occasional twisted knot of tendon.

– This is unfuckingbelievable.

Gabe and the deputy looked at me.

I held out my arms, bugging my eyes.

– What? Am I wrong? I mean, this is unfuckingreal. This is. Water in the mouth? Water in the mouth gets you this? Myfuckinggod.

The deputy looked at Gabe.

– Whered you find him?

Gabe picked at something imbedded in the wall, his fingernails rimmed with dry yellow paint.

– Po Sin knows him.

– You tell him about the pipe bomb?

Gabe took a Leatherman from the nylon case on his belt and unfolded it into pliers.

– Be my guest.

The deputy put his hands on his hips.

– Guy was ex-military

He looked at Gabe.

– Right?

Gabe closed the tips of the pliers over whatever was in the wall.

– I think so, yeah.

The deputy looked back at me.

– OK, ex-military guy wanted to off himself. So he made a pipe bomb.

I put my hand to my forehead.

– No.

– Yeah. And to do it, what he did was, he sat on it. And I dont mean sat on it, I mean he sat on it. Full insertion.

I put my other hand on my forehead.

– Oh no.

He nodded.

– Yeah. Pipe bomb in the ass. And, here we go, he does this while seated on his water bed.

– Oh shit.

– Youd think. But heres what happened. The, what, the internal dynamics of a bomb in the rectal passage were such that the force of the explosion went straight up. Not only did the bed not burst, but by giving slightly while still offering resistance, it helped to focus the blast upward. Thing went off, it scoured his viscera, guts, lungs, everything, shot them up through his head and out the top of his skull. Like a fountain. The whole room got sprayed, but other than looking a little bloated, and, you know, his head being gone from the eyebrows up, he was intact. And the bed was peachy.

He made pistol fingers and pointed at me.

– That was a fucking mess.

Gabe twisted the pliers and pulled something free of the wall and inspected it.

– Yeah. It was a big job.

He dropped the object in his palm and walked to the deputy, folding the Leatherman away.

– You need this for anything?

I walked over and looked at the large silver-filled molar he was showing the deputy.

The deputy shook his head.

– No. We finished in here. No way to fake a scene like this. Dont need teeth in the wall to tell us what happened. He made it easy. Note. All that.

I walked to the door and looked down the hall. I could see Po Sin on the couch next to the girl whod let us in. The two of them going over papers on a clipboard, the girl signing her name. Po Sin taking a travel pack of Kleenex from his breast pocket and handing it to her as she set the clipboard aside and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

I looked back in the room.

– So whyd he do it?

The deputy looked at me.

– Brain tumor.

He pointed at what had been a head, now gored all over the wall.

– Guess he showed it who was boss.

In the driveway Gabe and I put on our Tyveks and I watched Po Sin palm the deputy a fifty.

– Thanks for the referral, Mercer. Hope we can do some more business over here.

Mercer pocketed the cash.

– No problem.

He opened the door of his patrol car.

– Far as Im concerned, Aftershocks off the referral list. Last job I put them onto, a teenager did her wrists in the bathtub, right. Found out she was pregnant or something. Anyway, door closed. Hardly any splatter at all. Plastic shower curtain. Couple towels. Easy as hell. A month after they were in there, the girls brother uses the tub for the first time, to wash the family dog, right. Has Fido in there, running the water to get it warm how his best little friend likes it. What happens is, the water starts backing up, starts filling the tub, and its fucking red. Drain was choked with dry blood and feces from the girl. Those Aftershock rocket scientists, they poured some Drano in there and called it a day. Little boy is already traumatized from his sister having to take a real long nap, and now bloody waters gushing up from the drain and his dog is spazzing out. Family calls Aftershock, pretty justifiably upset, and Morton tells them its not his problem. Tells them he did his job and they signed off on the work. Hell be happy to send someone over, but hell have to draw up a new invoice. Fucking prick. And guess who gets the next call? They have my fucking card ‘cause I was first on the scene. Want to know why the people I suggested to them to clean up after their tragedy wont take care of their responsibilities? Want to know what I can do about it, right? Well, last thing I need is these people getting upset with me and putting in a call to the Civil Litigation Unit and end up with those fuckers asking me what the hell Im doing giving referrals for private contractors. So I call fucking Morton and tell him to get his ass over there and take care of it before I call a friend in Parking Enforcement and see that his fucking van has a ticket on it every time its on the street.

He took his hat off and tossed it inside the car.

– So fuck them and fuck the guild. From now on, youre top of the list west as well as east side. And Ill spread the word.

Po Sin gave him a thumbs-up.

– Much appreciated.

– My pleasure. I refer you guys, you get the job done. And youve never stiffed me.

He got in the car and pulled down the short drive to the PCH, waited for a hole in the traffic, and headed south.

Po Sin came over to the van, stripping off his Clean Team shirt and reaching for the Tyvek Gabe held out to him.

– To protect and to serve, Web, to protect and to serve.

I scooped brains.

I scooped them with a wide plastic paint scraper from a ninety-nine-cent store, and I wiped them onto blue industrial paper towels, I dropped the towels in red biohazard bags and dropped the bags in a fifty-gallon plastic garbage can with a Clean Team sticker on the side.

Po Sin watched.

– Spray some more up there.

I took the spray bottle from tool belt and sprayed some hydrogen peroxide, and specks of blood and brain Id missed on the counter foamed white.

Po Sin nodded, pursed his lips.

– See, you miss stuff. No matter how close you look, theres always more.

He took a step toward the bedroom where he and Gabe were dealing with the real environmental disaster.

– And stop taking off your mask.

I blew out my cheeks.

– What, it doesnt smell or anything, there arent any cockroaches trying to crawl in my mouth.

– No, but theres dry blood, and it will flake and go airborne and youll inhale it.

I pointed at the fogger in the bedroom.

– I thought the Microban killed everything.

– It does. It should. But its still considered a bad idea to breathe other peoples dry blood. Trust me on that one.

– Fine, fine.

I put the mask over my mouth and went back to scraping and wiping. Cleaning the blood and brains. Throwing away the ruined terry-cloth towels and bathmat and a thick robe that had been draped over the shower rod, and the fuzzy cover on the toilet seat. Opening the cabinet doors and looking inside and spraying hydrogen peroxide, in case one of them had been open when the guy did it. Doing the same with the drawers. Checking the back of the shower curtain liner. Peeling the liner from the curtain and looking between them. Finding spots of blood in the grout between tiles and getting down on my knees and working at it with a toothbrush, trying to scrub it from the porous material. Spinning the roll of toilet paper on its spindle and finding a dry pink blot soaked through dozens of layers. Tossing the roll in with the other hazards. Finishing. Standing in the middle of the huge bathroom and turning in place, finding no sign that death came here.

And liking that feeling. Things back as they had been. Better than they had been. Like nothing had ever gone wrong.

Clean. Blank. New.

I nodded to myself.

– Never know the stupid fucker was too lame to just eat some pills or stick his head in a plastic bag or some shit like normal losers.

– Oh my God.

I looked over at the open door of the den, and found the girl who had signed the contract with Po Sin standing there.

She stared at me, both hands covering her mouth.

– Oh. Oh, my Gaaawd!

She turned, shoulders shaking, and ran.

I looked up where heaven is supposed to be kept.

– Crap.

Po Sin appeared at the other door.

– What? What the hell was that? Who was that?

I pointed at the den.

– The girl. I didnt know she was. She snuck up on me.

From the den we could hear muffled, choked sobs.

He stepped into the bathroom, pulling his mask from his face, hissing.

– What the fuck, Web? What did you do?

– Nothing, man. I was talking to myself. I was. I didnt know she was there.

He stared at me, looked at the door the girl had stood in, tiptoed to it and peeked in the den. He looked over his shoulder and waved me over. I crept to his side and looked in the room. The girl was standing in the corner where two walls of bookcases converged, her back to us, shoulders jerking, sounds hitching in her throat.

Po Sin stuck his index finger in my chest and then pointed at the girl.

I shook my head.

He balled his hand into a fist, put it close to my face, pointed at the girl again.

I shook my head.

He leaned down, put his mouth to my ear.

– You get your ass in there and apologize for whatever asshole comment came out of your mouth right now or you will never work a day with me again.

He straightened, glaring down at me, mouthing words.

Grow the fuck up!

And he turned and walked back into the bedroom, back to helping Gabe cut away the blood-soaked portions of the mattress so they could be bagged for disposal.

I stood in the pristine bathroom. Cleaner now, no doubt, than it had been since the day the house was built. I looked at the gleam and shine on every surface. I looked at what I had done to make things look normal again. I thought about maybe being able to do that some more, make things the way they were.

And then, for some reason, I thought of the Flying Dutchman bus I saw the other morning. Thought of it ghosting the streets.

And shook it off.

I looked at the girls heaving back and shoulders.

– Crap.

I crossed the room, pulling the mask from my face, lifting the safety glasses to my forehead.

– Urn. Excuse. Urn. I didnt mean any.

Her shoulders shook harder.

I peeled the rubber gloves from my hands and wiped sweat off my forehead.

– Look. I really. I didnt mean anything personal. I didnt know you were there. I mean, I know that doesnt make it OK for me to say shit like. To say stuff like that, but I didnt mean anything by it, it was just. Its a little tense, doing… this. And I guess I have a fucked up… a lame sense of humor sometimes.

– Oh God. Oh gaaawd! Stop! Stop. Ho, my God, stop, youre killing me.

She turned, tears running down her face, gasping, waving a hand at me, trying to kill the laughter forcing its way up her throat.

– Oh, man, so completely inappropriate.

– I said I was sorry.

She shook out her match and dropped it off the deck to the sand below, watching it get caught in the wind and tumble into some rocks.

– No, it was just so perfect. Totally inappropriate. Exactly the kind of thing he would have said.

She pushed her glasses a little higher on her nose.

– Except he wouldnt have apologized.

I looked over my shoulder through the open sliding glass door and caught a glimpse of Gabe coming back into the house with another pack of scrapers.

I looked down at the tide as it washed over the rocks.

– Well, left to my own devices, I wouldnt have apologized either.

She choked on a lungful of smoke, more laughter combining with a few hacks.

I watched for a second then gave her a couple light pats on the back.

– You OK?

She coughed into her fist.

– Oh, sure, Im fine.

She wiped the damp corners of her eyes with one of the Kleenexes Po Sin gave her.

– My dad killed himself in one of the more deliberate and grotesque manners imaginable and Im laughing about it with one of the guys Im paying to clean his brains off the wall. Im doing great.

I turned and leaned my back on the deck rail and shrugged.

– Well, as long as youre OK then.

She smiled.

– Totally inappropriate.

– At least he left a note.

I didnt say anything, too occupied at the moment with working my Scotch-Brite pad over the speckles of blood on the surface of her dads desk.

She picked another almond from the large bowl of them on the table next to the wingback chair near the hallway door.

– I mean, I knew he was sick. But. But Im glad he left the note anyway. So I know for sure why he did it. Sort of.

She dropped the almond back in the bowl, picked out another.

– You think anyone would lie about that? I mean, no one would lie on their suicide note, would they?

I replaced the lamp Id taken from the desk, minus the silk shade that had been sprayed, and looked over at her.

– You want to be a little more enigmatic with your questions? Seriously, if you try a little harder I might get curious or something.

She studied the almond between her fingers, rotating it.

– No. I dont mean anything. He was sick. He was going to die. Soon. Painfully. I know why he did it. I just never read a suicide note before. It made me wonder. I guess. But no. It all makes sense.

I adjusted the silver pen-and-pencil set on the desk and lined it up with the antique in-and-out box and an absurdly detailed model of a freight vessel, its deck stacked with tiny cargo containers, Chinese characters on their sides.

She tossed the almond in her mouth and chewed.

– Makes sense as only a person making their head explode can make sense, I mean.

I walked to the section of bookcase that was in line with the open bathroom door.

– He had some nice books.

She watched me.

– Yeah. He loved his books. Well, he loved having a den with lots of books on the walls anyway. He never actually read them. He loved how they looked, but if it wasnt business-related or on the topic of fishing, Dad didnt have time to read much.

She dropped her voice an octave.

– Too much to do, sweetheart. Why bother reading about some made-up life when you can live it yourself?

She brushed curly dark hair from her forehead, bit her lip.

– Is that bad, that it kind of makes sense to me? What he did? Should I be worried?

I misted the spines of the books and watched white speckles appear over dozens of them.

– Fuck do I know. I just work here.

– Right, I forgot, youre the retard who doesnt know how to say the right thing.

She picked up another almond, moved it toward her mouth, stopped.

– Should I be eating these things?

I looked at the bowl of nuts, well out of line with the bathroom door.

– Urn. Truth?

– No, lie to me, that would make me feel so much better.

I wiped my cheek on my shoulder.

– I doubt they could get hit with anything over there.

She started to put the nut in her mouth.

I turned back to the bookcase.

– But then again, this is my second day on the job and Im the same lame fucker who made fun of how your dad wasted himself. So you might not want to listen to someone so clearly retarded.

She dropped the nut back in the bowl.

– Yeah, you got a point.

She got off the chair and walked over to me and looked at the books.

I misted them again and she reached out and touched the tip of her finger to a white spot that had appeared on a photograph on one of the shelves: a sunburned man with a thick moustache, large arms and shoulders, standing on a dock next to a striped marlin, well over 200 pounds, hanging from a tackle rig.

– Damnit. Goddamn it.

– What the fuck are you doing?

I helped Po Sin muscle the bagged and gutted mattress down the hall to the front door.

– Working.

He stopped, pausing in front of the door that led into the den, watching the girl as she took several books down from the shelves and boxed them.

– Looks to me like shes working.

He looked at me again, shook his head, and backed toward the front door and out into the sun.

We leaned the mattress against the van and I pointed back at the house.

– She wanted to go through them herself. She said she didnt want to keep the fabric-covered ones because she could see some of the marks.

Po Sin rested his ass in the open back door of the van and it dropped on its shocks.

– Fuck that. I mean, what are you doing talking with her?

I raised my hands over my head.

– You said talk to her!

– I said apologize, I didnt say engage in a damn tиte-а-tиte with her.

– She wanted to talk, man. What am I supposed to say? Oh, miss, so sorry, my boss is a total prick and will freak out if I have a conversation with you in your own house while youre grieving the loss of your father who just killed himself. Maybe you should take this dime and go call someone whos allowed to give a fuck.

Po Sin turned his head and looked through the ranked cedars to the clogged traffic on the PCH.

– Gonna take forever to get home.

I kicked a rock.

– Yeah.

He pushed himself up, the van bounced, free of ballast.

– Giving a fuck, Web, thats not exactly the MO youve been working under for some time now.

I watched traffic.

Po Sin watched it, too.

– And people in her situation, they are prone to acting in ways they would not under normal circumstances. Start doing shit like talking to the help about their personal tragedies. Situation like that can become quickly awkward. People can all of a sudden realize they are not acting like themselves and freak out on everyone around them. And people employed to eliminate evidence that their loved ones ever existed can make attractive targets when they lash out. And that can make the job much more difficult than it needs to be. And this is my livelihood here. My business that I built from the ground up. And I dont need to have it getting all fucked up because some shell-shocked young woman mistakes your disinterest in pretty much anything for some kind of blasй charm, and ends up getting more deeply injured than she already is and has an inevitable emotional detonation and refuses to pay her fucking bill. I have enough problems, thank you.

– Dont worry, I know hes a disaffected asshole. No danger of me getting sucked into his emotional black hole or anything.

We turned from the traffic.

She stood at the top of the driveway, wind blowing her hair across her face and rippling the hem of her knee-length black jersey dress, a box of books in her arms.

– So you guys want to look and see if you want any of these?

– You sure?

– Yeah, of course. No, wait.

I stood away from the box of books I was sliding into the back of the van and she reached in and pulled one out.

– Not this one.

I looked at the title.

– You like that?

She looked at it herself.

– No, Im keeping it because I think it sucks.

– Well that makes sense then, because it really does suck.

She bit her lip.

– My dad loved Sister Carrie.

– Oh fuck, Im sorry, I.

She clutched the book to her heart and threw her wrist across her forehead.

– He treasured this book and called me his little Carrie. This book was a bond between us. A treasure we shared.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets.

– Yes, please fuck with me some more, I like it so much when you make me feel like an asshole. And its such an obvious challenge to you, I can see how you cant help yourself.

She dropped her arms and smiled.

– Sorry. Youre just so funny when you try to apologize. Youre so bad at it. You cant hide the fact that you dont think you should have to do it.

– Again, Im glad my being an asshole is a source of entertainment.

– It is, it is.

Gabe came out of the house, carrying the fogger and a half-empty jug of Microban. He walked between us and set them in the back of the truck.

– All done.

He looked at the box of books, the girl pointed at them.

– Help yourself if you want.

He shook his head and peeled his Tyvek off, stripping to his black slacks and white short sleeve.

– No, thank you.

He walked to his Cruiser.

– See you around, Web.

And he got in the car and rolled.

The girl looked at me.

– Whats his story?

– Im not allowed to ask.

Po Sin came from the house, the clipboard in his hand.

– Ready for the walk-through?

She looked up at the house.

– No, its fine. I looked. Its fine.

She reached for the clipboard, but he held it away.

– We should really do a walk-through. Have you look at everything on the invoice and check it off.

She took the clipboard from him.

– No, I dont want to do that.

She signed her name and put her initials next to several ballpoint Xs on the contract.

– Its fine.

Po Sin raised his shoulders.

– Just if theres a problem, something we might have missed, and you dont see it now. You know? The home owners insurance can get tricky.

She handed the clipboard back.

– If theres a problem, Ill pay to have it taken care of.

She looked at the house.

– Or Ill light a match and burn the place down.

Po Sin turned and slammed the rear doors of the van.

– Just so you know whats what.

She held out her hand.

– I know whats what.

He shook her hand, nodded, and started around the van.

– Come on, Web, time to hit it.

I looked at the girl, pointed at the van.

– Well, I gotta. You gonna be? In there?

She tapped me on the shoulder with her book.

– Go on, Web. Sensitivity doesnt suit you.

I scratched my head.

– Yeah. And I thought I was doing so well with it.

She smiled, turned, and wandered back toward the house, drifting from one side of the sandstone path to the other, slapping the book against her thigh as she went.

In the van, I watched her as Po Sin jockeyed for an open spot in the traffic. I watched her go to the open door of the house, stand there, then turn away and sit on the edge of the porch and open the book and flip slowly through the pages till she found one she wanted to read.

The last sight Id have of her for some time, without bloodshed being involved anyway.

Cherchez lafemme.