The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death (19 page)

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. You 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, she 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.

—It's just a
little
piece. He has
hundreds
of them.

Po Sin folded the piece in his hand.

—And they're all equally precious to him. Just like the two of you are equally precious to us. We wouldn't want to lose either of you, no matter how much we love the other one.

—But he has so
many.

—That doesn't matter, honey.

He turned and walked to his son.

—That doesn't matter at all.

He squatted and opened his hand in front of Yong's face. Yong looked at the piece, started to reach for it, stopped. Po Sin nodded, set the piece on the floor. Yong snatched it up, opened a zipper on the side of his backpack, dropped the piece inside, and zipped it back up.

Po Sin held out his index finger again.

—Now can I have a real hug?

Yong nodded, wrapped his little hand around Po Sin's finger, squeezed, and let go.

Po Sin looked over his shoulder at us.

—There, all better.

—Today was a bad day.

I walked with Lei to her car.

—Usually he's more interactive. But when something gets out of sequence, or lost, he gets untracked, his mind, and he can't focus on anything else. Emotions don't make much sense to him, so he has to
concentrate very hard to read signs he's been taught to recognize. When he can't, he gets confused and scared. He withdraws. And touch is difficult. He doesn't like too much contact. Random contact. It's hard to explain. He loves being sandwiched. We have these pads at home we can put him between and apply pressure over his whole body, and somehow that comforts him, makes it easier to think. But generally, he needs a task to focus. The Legos.

She opened the driver's door of her tiny yellow Scion.

—Those kits? The impossibly difficult ones? Cities, trains, huge airliners. He opens the box, glances at the instructions, and builds them without ever making a mistake. You can take thousands of pieces, mix them all up, pull out one and show it to him, and he'll know exactly what kit it's from, where it goes, even what page it's on in the instructions, and its code number. The other kids know he's different, but they're young enough to think it's cool that he knows so much about Legos.

She shaded her eyes from the sun to look up at my face, smiling.

—They come to him with all their Lego dilemmas. He's like their shaman. Treasured for his oddness. For now, anyway.

A big sigh.

—We'll see in a couple of years how they deal with him.

—Um, Lei.

—Yes?

—Speaking of touch, could I have my hand back.

She looked at the hand she'd not released since she first took hold of it, laughed, let it go.

—Sorry. Sorry. Poor Yong hates to be touched, and his mother is so touchy-feely I have to struggle not to hold his hand or rub his neck. And then it gets bottled up sometimes, next thing I know I'm stroking the cheek of someone I met five minutes ago.

She raised and dropped her shoulders and climbed into the car.

—I've invaded the personal space of every checkout person at our Ralph's. The tellers at the bank, they're lucky they have those Plexiglas shields to hide behind or I'd be hugging them every time I go in.