And she did. And I felt tired. So I went to sleep.
TO KEEP HIM FROM CRUSHING MY SPINE
—Motherfucker!
I opened my eyes and looked up at the extremely pissed off giant standing over me holding one edge of the bed off the ground and threatening to stomp on my head.
—Motherfucker, are you high?
I shook my head, looked around the sun-filled office.
—No. What? No. I don't even do drugs.
He hefted the bed.
—Get the hell out of there before I drop this thing.
I scrambled out and stood in my T and underwear, jeans clutched in my hands.
—Um.
Po Sin dropped the bed.
—Jesus, Web, what the hell?
I slid one leg into my jeans.
—No, I'm fine, I was just sleeping. I sleep a lot.
He shook his head.
—You sleep a lot? You sleep like the fucking dead, is what you do. I was yelling, running around yelling your name for five minutes. Saw you under the bed, I freaked out. Oh, shit, Web's fucked up. Almost had a heart attack. And I don't mean that figuratively.
He squinted at me.
—You sure you're not high?
I buttoned my fly and looked at him.
—Man, I smoked grass once when I was eleven and got so paranoid I thought the air was trying to kill me. Only time I ever got high. I hate drugs. I never do drugs.
He licked his lips.
—OK. Fine. Then help me with something here.
He walked to the outer door and swung it open and pointed at the empty parking spot out back.
—Help me and tell me where the fuck my van is.
I took a step toward the door.
—I. I. I.
He nodded.
—Yeah, and when you figure out the answer to that one, you can tell me this.
He unballed one huge fist and showed me the pair of blue panties in his palm.
—Who the fuck do these belong to and why are they in my office?
The thing about getting beat up twice, spending big chunks of time cleaning up other people's blood, seeing your dad for the first time in two years, getting in a fight with your best friend, and having sex with someone you think you might really like a lot and then totally going psycho on her, all in a twenty-four-hour period, is that it's likely to affect your judgment. And if your judgment is pretty much for shit to start with, that may result in some spectacularly lame lies.
I'm not saying it's cool or anything.
I'm just saying that when I proceeded to tell Po Sin exactly what had happened that night, the fact that I left out the part where I drove to Carson to clean a bloody motel room and then brought one of his clients back to his office and had sex with her, just didn't seem relevant. I mean, nothing happened to the office while I was away, man. So why bother him with the information that I'd, you know, gone and used his equipment to sterilize a crime scene? And the van was clearly stolen while I was in the office asleep. That would have happened even if I'd spent the whole night here. And as for telling him the girl who'd come over to keep me company on a long lonely night was Soledad, well, that just would have required I tell him the rest of the story. And I just explained why that didn't matter.
So I streamlined things to make it easier for everyone involved.
But I digress.
—Stop lying to me, Web.
—I? What? Lying to you? I would never.
He took his face from his hands.
—Before you say anything else and really fuck up our relationship, let me tell you something about modern technology.
—Uh. OK.
He leaned back in his chair.
—Modern technology is an amazing thing. It allows us to do amazing things. Go to the moon. Cure disease. Watch TV. It also allows us to communicate over vast distances.
He reaches for the phone.
—And check our messages remotely.
He pressed a button on the phone.
Um, hi, this is, uh, this is Soledad Nye. The woman in Malibu. You cleaned my dad's mess? I mean, oh fuck, that was horrible. You cleaned the house. Anyway. I was hoping I could get in touch with one of your employees. Web. I wanted to talk to him about… anyway. My number, well, he should call me on my cell. The number. Hang on. Hello? Hello? Crap! Crap! Uh, Web?
Yeah, yeah, it's me. Oh fucking crap! Jesus. Are you OK?
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
—Motherfucker!
—Didn't we already cover that?
Po Sin stopped hammering his desk and faced me.
—What?
—Nothing.
He put his hands on his knees and rose from his chair.
—Are you certain of that?
—Yeah.
He took a step.
—Because I'm just about positive I just heard the guy, the guy who had a female client, I expressly told him to stay away from, over here when he was on watch last night and played fuck games on the job till he passed out under the bed and my van was stolen, I think I just heard that guy make something like a joke. Am I mistaken? Because if I am not mistaken, I would take it very poorly.
—I.
The phone rang, cutting off whatever verbal strategy I might have mustered to keep him from crushing my spine.
Po Sin raised a finger.
—Hold that thought.
I wondered if he meant whatever I'd been about to say, or the thought that he was about to crush my spine. This leading to the sudden worry that perhaps he could read minds. Sleep deprivation, etc, having clouded my reasoning a bit.
Po Sin picked up the phone.
—Clean Team. What?
He looked at me, slitted his eyes.
—No. He is not.
He hung up the phone and pointed at it.
—Do you know what this is not for?
—Um, I'm sorry, the structure of the question got me a little confused.
He raised a finger.
—We did just talk about what a bad fucking idea it would be for you to be making jokes at this moment, didn't we?
—Yeah, yeah we did.
—OK.
He pointed at the phone again.
—So, do you know what this is not for?
I shook my head, assuming this was one of those rhetorical things that would allow Po Sin to make a point and lead, soon after, to him chilling out a bit. I was right about part of that assumption.
He opened his mouth and a small hurricane wind blew out.
—It is not for your fucking personal use, motherfucker!
He made a fist, raised it high, brought it down slowly, and rested it on top of my head.
—It is not for desperate young women to call you on, looking for comfort in the middle of the night, and it is not for your buddies to be calling on during business hours asking if you're around. Understood?
I tried to nod under the weight of his hand.
—Yeah. Totally. No personal calls.
He took his hand from my head.
—OK. Now. I, I'm a man. As evidence, I have a wife and a couple kids. I know all about screwing and how great it is. I also understand that when a chick calls you in the middle of the night and asks if she can come over, only a fucking corpse says no.
—Or a gay guy.
He made the fist again.
—Web!
—Right. My bad.
He relaxed the fist. Sort of.
—Now I'm not saying you're off the hook. But, you know, I get it.
He brought up both hands, cupped my face in them, from crown to chin.
—As long as you were here, Web. As long as you were here when the van was stolen, I can understand. But if you guys were down the street messing around at the Stardust Lounge, or making a run for condoms or something, if you were not here as you were supposed to be, that is a very different matter. Yes? You do understand? You were here?
OK, this part here, I won't lie, this is bad. Yo
u might want to look away and not acknowledge the fact that I did what I did.
God knows I don't.
I brought up my hands and covered his.
—Po Sin, Yes. I understand. And I was here when the van was stolen.
True, every word. And, in an odd case of transmutation, also one of the worst lies of my life.
He took his hands from my face.
—OK. OK. Now. I need to, I need to start formulating a response to this act of aggression from Aftershock. You. You need to make yourself very fucking useful right now.
I looked around, saw a broom, grabbed it, looked at him.
He nodded.
—Yes. Start with that.
I started sweeping.
Gabe came to the open office door.
—Where's the van?
Po Sin brought his leg back and lashed it at the wastebasket and garbage exploded over the office and the tin basket hit the cinder-block wall and folded in half.
—Motherfucker! Motherfucking Morton looked us in the eyes and told us he'd agree to a cease-fire and then had one of his fucking peons come over here and rip us off! You were right! You were right on the fucking money, Gabe. That motherfucker cannot be trusted.
The garbage floated down to the floor.
Gabe watched it.
—Not like I'm happy about being right.
Po Sin stood in the middle of the trash.
—We'll have to do something about it.
—OK. Tonight?
Po Sin took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
—Lei has her yoga class tonight. I need to watch the kids.
Gabe nodded.
—OK, but better if we take care of it right away.
And he looked at me.
And Po Sin looked at me.
And I stopped sweeping trash.
—What?
Po Sin slipped his glasses back on.
—Got any plans? A pressing date with your new girl, maybe?
I bent and picked up the wastebasket and looked at the shape it had been twisted into when Po Sin booted it. It occurred to me that it was probably in better shape than my prospects of ever seeing Soledad again after my epic spazmatic display.
—No, I don't think that's gonna be a regular thing.
—All free, then? Not intending on another sleep marathon?
—No. I guess not.
He spread his arms.
—Then it's no problem?
—Um, no? I mean, what?
—You can help Gabe out tonight.
—I can? Sure. I. To do?
Gabe tugged an earlobe.
—Nothing big. Just business communications.
I shook my head.
—I don't know, man. That sounds. I don't know.
Po Sin turned and looked out the open door and turned back and looked at me.
—Ahem.
I looked at the empty parking spot out there where his van wasn't parked and decided I should shut up and do as I was asked to do.
Gabe observed the silence for a moment, nodded his head.
—OK. So I'll pick you up tonight.
He turned to leave, turned back.
—Wear gloves.
And leave he did.
Po Sin walked through the door into the shop.
—Time to get your hands dirty, Web.
—Got a hug for Daddy?
Po Sin stuck out his index finger.
—Just a little one?
The twelve-year-old boy looked out from under his long bangs, raised a hand, extended his pinkie, and touched it to the tip of his father's finger.
Po Sin smiled.
—I love you.
The boy withdrew his finger and walked to a corner of the room and sat on the floor and wedged himself tight into the angle of the walls and put his backpack in his lap and squeezed it to his chest.
Po Sin pushed himself from his squat and looked at his wife in the doorway.
—What's the matter?
Lei came into the office, ruffling her spiky black hair.
—He lost a piece from his Bat Cave.
—Oh, Christ. At school? Please tell me it was at school.
She shook her head.
—Nope.
—Aw, shit.
She raised her hands.
—And I've already done what I can do about it.
—OK.
—You can take your best shot.
—OK.
—I'm just praying I can find some kind of mellow in yoga class and not fall asleep on my mat as soon as I get there.
—OK. OK.
She took a deep breath, exhaled.
—Sorry. Long one.
She looked at him and smiled.
—How about you, everything OK?
Po Sin scratched his moustache, waved a hand in the air over his head.
—Nothing's blowing up.
She pointed out the open door.
—Where's the van?
He glanced through the shop door at me where I was bleaching the slop sink, looked back at his wife.
—Gabe's out doing some pickups.
She looked where he had glanced, saw me, raised her eyebrows at Po Sin.
He pointed at me.
—Sorry. That's Web. Remember?
Her forehead creased, uncreased.
—Web. Yes, of course, I'm sorry.
She came through the door into the shop, hand held out.
—Nice to finally meet you.
I dropped my sponge in the sink and started to reach for her hand with one of mine, pulled up and stripped the thick rubber glove off.
—Hi. Nice to. Po Sin's said a lot about. Hi.
She took my sweaty hand; hers tiny and strong and cool.
—So he finally got you in here.
—Uh, yeah.
She kept my hand firmly in hers, looking up at me, smiling.
—He's been talking about it forever. Saying how he thinks you should be working.
Po Sin came to the door.
—Lei.
She waved her free hand over her shoulder.
—Shut up, Grandfather Elephant.
She touched the jade necklace that hung down over a loose orange cotton blouse.
—He'd just as soon no one knew he cares about anything, but he does. Of course.
—Lei!
—Ignore his bluster. He thinks I'm not minding my own business. How have you been? Are you feeling better? You're working here, you must be feeling better. Not spending all your time slacking at your friend's tattoo shop. Good, that's good for you.
—Jesus, Lei.
She tugged on my hand, pulled me a step closer, put a hand to her mouth for a stage whisper.
—I'm embarrassing him. Being overly personal with someone I've just met. He hates it.
—He has work to do, Lei.
Still holding my hand, she turned.
—You have work to do.
She tilted her head toward their son tucked in the corner, clutching his bag.
He slapped the back of his neck.
—I know, I know. Where is she?
—She's out in the car.
He started for the door.
—I'll get her. Just let Web do his work, OK? I don't pay him enough to get grilled by you.
He stepped out the door.
—Xing. Xing, over here. Now. Now. No, I will not carry you. Now, I said. No, you are perfectly capable of walking on your own two feet. Now. Now! Damn it.
He walked out of sight.
Lei turned back to me.
—I'm not a Hindu, Web, but I swear I must have done something in a previous life to deserve my daughter.
She nodded her head.
—I know, I know, it's my own fault, our own fault. She's ours after all. She didn't just appear out of thin air. We made love, we made a baby. One baby wasn't enough. We had to go back to the well for more. So we got what we deserved. And with all Yong's problems, beautiful boy that he is, s
he doesn't get all the attention she maybe deserves.
She leaned close.
—What she deserves is a good whack on the ass from time to time, but Po Sin won't allow it.
She leaned back.
—Of course, I'd be terrified to try it myself. Have you ever seen Demon Seed?
I nodded.
—Sure.
She tapped the tip of her nose.
—That's our Xing.
—But I didn't take it.
We both looked as Po Sin ducked through the door, Xing on his shoulders.
—Honey, don't lie.
—But I'm not lying.
He took her from his shoulders and stood her on his desk and looked her in the eyes.
—Xing, my little lovely apricot, no one likes a liar.
She stomped.
—But I'm not lying.
He put a finger to his lips.
—Shh.
—But I'm nooot!
He shook the finger at her.
—Nu-uh. No more. Listen to me. Listen.
—Buuut.
He snapped his fingers, a meaty slap of flesh.
—Shht. Now!
She stopped talking and looked down at her feet in their pink and white sneakers.
Po Sin pointed at her brother.
—Does Yong ever lose his Legos, Xing?
She bit her lip, not looking up.
Po Sin put a finger under her chin and tilted her face to his.
—I asked a question.
She blew out her cheeks.
—You told me to be quiet and listen.
—And now I want you to answer. Does he ever lose his Legos?
—I don't know.
—Yes you do. You know he doesn't. Sometimes people take them at school. But he never loses them. Because after your mom and me and his loving sister, the most important thing in the world for Yong is his Legos. Isn't that right?
—I don't know.
Po Sin straightened, folded his arms, shook his head.
—Xing, I will never take you to the American Girl store ever again if you don't stop lying.
Her eyes went big. She looked at him, found him unyielding; looked at her mom, found her utterly fed the fuck up. Her eyes darted from side to side, surveying the room, found no escape. She made little fists, pounded them against her thighs twice.
—But I didn't steal it! I just borrowed it!
Po Sin held out his hand.
She frowned, squatted, unlaced her left shoe, dug a finger inside and came out with a little knobbed bit of black plastic.
She put it in her father's hand.
The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death Page 14
