The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death

by the time I have that shit taken care of, that terminal could be locked down for the night. Yeah? Whereas, your boy here can zip over there right now and be in and out and we can all go the fuck home.

Harris gave it a little contemplation.

Mr. Big Ten Four on the other hand, who was turning out to be a bit sharper than the stereotype led me to expect, had more observations to offer.

– He's talking pretty goddamn fast, you ask me.

Harris dragged a thumbnail down one of those long creases in his cheek.

– Watch the Lord's name there.

– Sorry.

– But you are right, he's chattering a little fast. Little fast.

I wagged my head.

– Talking a little fast? Man, you are lucky you can put together a thing I'm saying. You're lucky I'm talking in a pitch audible to human ears. Talking a little fast? I'm not just talking a little fast, I'm simultaneously pissing and shitting my pants out of fear. I'm on the extreme edge of losing all cool and just falling apart. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing here and I am bor-derlining as we speak. I, man, I clean shit for a living! Before that, before a couple days ago, I slacked for a living. Before that, I was, man, I was, I was, I was a fucking elementary school teacher! I am out of my depth and beyond my ken! You think this is a setup? Man, this is nothing. This is me trying to dogpaddle. This is me trying to keep my head out of the water.

I dropped onto the bed, my arms hanging, my head down, I breathed.

– Man.

I looked up.

– This is me just trying to keep everyone alive. That's all I want here. I just want everyone, not just me and the girl, not just retard there, but all of us alive and well and waving each other off into the sunset. That's all. That's my plan. That's what I'm in this for.

Harris looked me over, cocked his head at Mr. Big Ten Four, scratched his earlobe with the big revolver that had never left his right hand since he cracked me with it, and gave an inclination to his head that might be considered a nod among the tersest of the world.

– OK, boy. OK.

He tucked the revolver into his belt.

– I think we have a deal on that part.

He passed the papers over to Mr. Big Ten Four.

– All we need to settle now.

He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops.

– Is our bill for this room and our meals the last few days.

Jaime brought his head up.

– Fuck that! Don't do it, asshole, don't you give in on that shit! I'll fucking kill you, you give in on expenses!

I held up a hand.

– Chill, Jaime.

I looked at Harris.

– Let me see the girl.

He shook his head.

– Said payment's due.

– And I heard you. And I'm saying let me see the girl. It's time.

He pursed his lips, let a little air out through his nose, and wiggled a finger at the bathroom door.

Mr. Big Ten Four grunted and walked over and knocked on the door.

– Come on out.

There was a rustle from inside. I waited, doing my best to keep the few bites of Jim's Burgers burrito down where they belonged. My brain painting pictures of how bad she was gonna look.

And the door opened.

And Soledad came out.

And she looked just fine.

Tired as hell. Tearstained. Wrinkled and wrung out and in need of several showers. But other than that, just fine.

– Hey Web.

I got off the bed and went over to her. I reached out a hand. I unbuttoned the pocket of the Mobil shirt she'd put on after we slept together. And I pulled out the fold of hundreds L.L. had left for me between the pages of Anna Karenina.

I turned from her and walked to Harris and held out the money.

– This cover it?

He took the bills and counted them.

– And then some.

He hitched a shoulder at Mr. Big Ten Four.

– Call when you got ‘er rollin’ back here.

Mr. Big Ten Four went out of the room. Harris grabbed a seat next to the door. Jaime continued to give me stink eye. And, still being pretty sure Soledad had lied to me about something, and being pretty pissed about it as well, I did my best to ignore her.

Not looking at her, being the best way I knew to keep my brain from forcing me to remember what she looked like naked and how smooth and downy the skin was at the small of her back.

– I didn't even want to bring the tweaked-out little bugger along.

– Web.

– Mean, his mom hadn't been in my business about how he needed someone to reach out a hand and get him on his feet if he was ever gonna get free of that crap, it never would have crossed my mind to take him on the road and put him to work. My sister just kept up on me ‘bout how the best thing for him would be to get out of town and away from all his tweaker friends, so I went ‘gainst my better judgment and had him ride with my crew when we hit the road for the season.

– Web.

– Guess it didn't pan out the way his mom hoped.

Harris blew out his cheeks.

– Gonna have a hell of a time explaining that to her. Not so much he died, boy had early grave tattooed on his shoulder. Not just making conversation there, he actually had the words early grave tattooed on his shoulder. He asked for it, he got it. Still.

– Web.

– Still, it's gonna be a bitch explaining how he died. S'pose I'll say he got crushed under a train or something. Tell her we were taking a load off a boxcar on a sidin’ and he tripped up and went under another as it was pulling out on the opposite tracks. Somethin’ long those lines. Make it clear why there's no body to bring back.

– Web.

Harris shifted his weight forward and dropped the front legs of his tilted chair to the floor.

– Boy that girl's talkin’ to you. Been tryin’ to get your attention the last hour. You want to maybe give her a glance so she'll stop interruptin’ me while I try to figure some crap out?

I glanced at Soledad.

– What?

She shrugged.

– I just wanted to say thanks.

– What for?

She looked at the ceiling.

– For coming to get me, what else?

– You're welcome.