Chev put his hand over the phone.
– Actually, no. The taste for horror is kind of a new thing.
I looked up from the magazine.
– Hey is there a problem here I'm unaware of? Am I not allowed to develop new interests and tastes? So I never really got into horror before, so it's a new thing, is that supposed to
Po Sin grunted.
– People getting hacked up and tortured and mutilated is fun. Shit's disgusting.
I put the magazine in front of my face.
– Says the man with a van full of bloody rags and dirty needles and shit-stained sheets and used condoms and wads of tampons.
He pulled the magazine from my hands and flipped through it, looking at the pictures.
– Some nasty stuff in here.
– Doesn't bother me.
He looked at me, nodded, and kicked the side of the biohazard canister.
– Give me a hand with this. Come out and get the empty.
I rolled off the couch.
– Like I'm everyone's slave today.
Chev was scribbling in the appointment book, back on the phone.
– With a sunset behind it, yeah, sure.
I followed Po Sin out the door.
– Ask her if she wants the dolphin snagged in a gill net or drowning in an oil spill.
Chev showed me his middle finger.
Outside, Po Sin was at the back of the Clean Team van, opening the doors. I set the canister on the edge of the curb.
He waved me closer.
– Bring it here.
I picked it back up.
– Maaan.
I brought it over to him and caught a face-full of the reek pouring out of the sun-baked rear of the van.
– Holy Jesus! Motherfuck.
He took the canister from me and snugged it in with several others and snapped a bungee cord around them to keep them from shifting.
– How's that for a gross-out?
I waved a hand in front of my face.
– Dude, that's some nasty shit.
He took an empty canister from a rack and passed it to me.
– Things are supposed to be airtight.
– They're not.
– No shit.
He slammed the doors closed and leaned his back against them, the polarized lenses of his glasses darkening.
– So. Still no work.
I lifted the empty canister.
– Working plenty.
Chev came out of the shop and lit up.
– Don't listen to him, he ain't worked in over a year.
Po Sin looked up at the sky.
– Been that long?
I spat in the gutter.
– It's been awhile.
I pointed at Chev.
– And don't listen to his bullshit. I work all the time. I mean, who's been doing the laundry? Cleaning the dishes? Cooking? Who's been running all your errands and fetching lunch and taking your truck to be washed?
Chev knocked ash from his smoke.
– Yeah, and who's been paying your rent and covering the groceries and the PG &E and the cable and the water and the gas and every other little thing that comes up?
– I've been kicking in.
Chev watched a couple Korean girls in midi tank tops walk out of the French cafe up Melrose.
– Mean your mom's been kicking in.
– Any of your business?
The girls disappeared into a shoe store and he looked back at me.
– Only that she's not gonna carry you forever and you need to get a fucking job because the IOUs are piling up on the fridge.
– I'll get a job.
Po Sin tugged the end of his thin drooping moustache.
– Can't believe you can't get a job the way the schools need teachers.
Chev flicked his butt.
– He can get a job, they call him all the time. He could sub five days a week. He could go full-time again whenever he wants.
– Only I don't want to, asshole.
– You want to make a couple bucks, I got some work for a guy with a strong stomach for messed up shit.
I looked at Po Sin and squinted.
– What kind of work?
He looked at Chev and pointed at me.
– Know why he doesn't have a job? Because he's the kind of guy you offer him one and he asks what the work is.
He started for the cab of the van.
– He don't want to work.
I followed him around the van.
– I didn't say I don't want to work, I just asked what the job is.
Asking what the job was, that was actually a really smart idea. If I'd pursued that line of questioning a bit further, things would have been considerably less complicated. Dug a little deeper into that line of inquiry, and I might have avoided the whole
But Po Sin wasn't interested in filling in blanks.
He stopped and faced me.
– It's cleaning shit up, is what it is. We got a packrat gig and one of my sets of hands is flaking on me and there's a load of shit to haul.
I squinted again.
– You mean literal shit?
– I mean stuff. Ten bucks an hour for hauling stuff. You want or not?
Chev came around the front of the van.
– He wants.
– Hey!
Chev put a finger in my face.
– He wants because the fridge is empty and it's his turn to fill it and I'm gonna start eating all my meals out so there's nothing for him to graze on, so if he wants to eat this week he'll take the job.
Po Sin took a notepad from his back pocket and started scribbling with a nub of pencil from behind his ear.
