The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death

I got up from the table.

– I'm gonna make a call.

He wiped his mouth and got up.

– Take your time, I'm 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 that'd serviced L.L. still worked this spot. She'd be long in the tooth, but that wasn't 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 I'd 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? That's 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 Lowenbraus.

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, it's 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 didn't have the time.

– Po Sin?

– I'm here.

– I'm sorry, man. I'm sorry I didn't 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. That's going to be our whole lives, helping him. And Xing? It's impossible to give her the attention she deserves because of Yong. So she tries to get it other ways.

– I know.

– And they're 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 don't thank me.

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

– You're welcome?

– Something like that. So, my kids are expensive and hard work. So, I don't 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 there's a reason for that.

– Yeah.

– OK. Well, one way or another, we'll deal with the van. After the little errand you and Gabe did last night, I don't think I'll be talking Morton into returning it, but it was insured. In the end, it'll 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 that's 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 didn't get turned about soon.

And I cranked the wheel hard over.

– It's not just that I left the office. I left the office and got into some stupid shit. And that's why the van was stolen. Morton didn't 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, wasn't the kind of request you'd 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?

– It's the guy you sent to get your almonds.

– The what? Oh, right. Hey Harris, it's 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.

– We're ready to make the swap.

– Who's we?

– Me and Jaime.

– That jackass? Didn't say a word about that jackass bein’ involved.

– No, you didn't, 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 Jim's, as his Mortal Kombat fighter pulled out the spine of its opponent.