The Mystic Arts Of Erasing All Signs Of Death Part 3

-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.

-Good. Here's the address.

He handed me the paper.

-Seven in the AM AM. No later.

-No problem, just swing by and pick me up.

Midway pulling himself up behind the wheel, Po Sin stopped.

-Pick you up? My a.s.s. Drive yourself.

Chev shook his head.

-He doesn't have a car.

-I have a car.

-No, you don't.

-Yes I do. I have a great car. I have a cla.s.sic nineteen-seventy-two Datsun five-ten.

-You have car parts. You do not, in fact, have a car.

-Yes I do. I have parts in sufficient quant.i.ty and variety that when a.s.sembled in their proper order they will const.i.tute a car. I have, de facto, a car.

-You have a de facto pile of sc.r.a.p in the driveway is what you have, dude.

Po Sin turned the key and the van started up.

-The bus is a buck fifty. You got a buck fifty?

I stuffed my hands in my pockets, looked somewhere else.

-I don't ride the bus.

Po Sin pointed at the number 10 stop, up at the corner.

-Public transportation is a wonderful thing. Saves money, saves the environment. Gets you to a paying job. Take the bus.

I started to open my mouth and Chev stepped in.

-He's not riding the bus, Po Sin. He doesn't like the bus.

Po Sin looked at him. Looked at me. Looked away.

-Right. My bad. Thought maybe that had changed.

He looked at his watch.

-OK, I got a guy on the job, he can pick you up on the way. Be out front at six thirty and he'll grab you.

Chev b.u.t.ted me with his shoulder.

-Yeah, I'll get him up and make sure he has his sack lunch and everything.

Po Sin pulled the door closed and put the van in gear.

-So, see you tomorrow. And wear your boots, there tend to be sharps all over the floor on these jobs.

The van pulled from the curb and we walked back up to the front of the shop.

Chev put his arm around my shoulders.

-Your first real job. Me and your mom are so proud.

-f.u.c.k you, I'm not going. I'll call Po Sin later and tell him not to send the guy.

-Yes, you are going. And to celebrate, me and your mom are gonna f.u.c.k like bunnies tonight.

I shrugged his arm off.

-Don't, man, that's not cool.

-Gonna f.u.c.k and f.u.c.k and f.u.c.k all night long.

-Dude, you're grossing me out.

He stopped at the door, pumping his groin at me.

-Gonna git our f.u.c.k aaawwwnnn.

I walked past him into the shop and locked the door. He grabbed the handle and shook it.

-Let me in, d.i.c.k.

On the counter, his phone began to buzz and I picked it up.

-Want me to get it?

He stuck his finger against the gla.s.s.

-Do not answer that.

I looked at the number.

-Caller unknown. Probably a customer. Let me get this for you.

-Do not pick that up.

I flipped the phone open.

-White Lightning Tattoo.

Chev jammed a hand in his pocket, going for his keys.

-a.s.shole!

I nodded my head, phone at my ear, backing from the door.

-A string of barbed wire? Around your biceps? Yeah, sure, we can do that.

Chev turned the key.

-Do not say another word.

I covered the mouthpiece with my hand.

-No, it's cool, I can handle this.

He pushed the door open.

-Give me the phone.

I took my hand from the mouthpiece.

-Sure, sure, we can do that wire around your arm. We can also tattoo lamea.s.s poser wannabe lamea.s.s poser wannabe on your forehead. on your forehead.

Chev came at me, grabbing for the phone.

I held it over my head, screaming.

-Or how about you just get a unicorn on your hip so people will know what a real man you are!

Chev snagged my wrist.

-a.s.shole.

I jerked my hand free, yelling at the phone.

-Or a rainbow on your ankle!

And it flew from my hand and hit the polished cement floor and cracked open and the screen shattered into five pieces.

We stood there and looked at the phone.

I toed one of the pieces.

-So, I guess I won't be blowing off Po Sin in the morning.

THE LAST TIME I'D SEEN HER.

Chev's mom and dad are dead.

Which is why I can't make jokes about f.u.c.king his mom when he starts making jokes about f.u.c.king mine. It's also why he's constantly in my a.s.s about calling my mom and being nicer to her and being more responsible so she doesn't have to worry about me. Like my mom worries. Like she can retain a single coherent thought long enough to work up a good worry. Not that I want to rag on her or anything, I mean, she's my mom. But life hasn't disrupted her mellow since, like, 1968. How is anything I do or say gonna break that trend?

Chev doesn't see it that way. Which makes sense. You take someone who doesn't have something themselves, they're always gonna put more value on it than the person who does have it. So, sure, I love my mom. But Chev may love her a little more than me. Which is maybe not as f.u.c.ked up as it sounds like at first.

-Hey Mom.

-Who is it?

-It's me, Mom.

-Web? Is that you?

-It's me, Mom.

-Cool. That's cool.

There was a pause. A long one. This might mean she was: A) Waiting for me to tell her why I was calling.

or B) So stoned she had forgotten I was on the line.

-So, Mom.

-Who is this?

Which was pretty much a dead giveaway that the answer was B.

-It's Web, Mom.