– Do you have any other clothes?
I looked down at the T and blue jeans and sneakers Id been wearing for over twenty-four hours.
– My dinner jacket is at the cleaners just now. But if you dont think it would be gauche, I could wear my morning coat.
Gabes expression remained immobile. Except maybe his eyes rolled around and around behind his shades without me knowing it.
– Nothing else to wear.
He extended his arm, shooting his wrist free of his jacket cuff, and looked at his watch.
– OK.
He steered us east on Burbank Boulevard.
– Po Sin lock up?
I pointed back in the direction of the shop.
– What tipped you off? I mean, besides the fact he left me sitting outside waiting for you after he took the kids home? What the fuck, I cant be trusted now?
Gabe drove, reserving comment. Reserving just about any indication that he was alive, as I was already learning, being a big specialty of his.
I picked up the slack.
– Really, man, Im not trying to get off the hook for the van or anything, but I was supposed to watch the shof. I succeeded in that. Now, when Po Sin has to take the kids for dinner and youre late, I have to wait on the sidewalk? That, frankly, is bullshit.
Gabe took a left onto Lankershim.
– You tell Po Sin all this?
I looked out the window.
– Well. No.
He pulled to the curb at a Goodwill and killed the engine.
– That was probably a good idea.
He climbed out and walked around the car and stopped on the sidewalk and looked back at me.
– You coming?
I got out and closed the door.
– I didnt realize I was required.
He pushed through the glass doors into the shop.
– Certainly required if you want anything to fit.
– Here, hold out your wrist.
I held out my wrist and Gabe flipped open the knife blade on his Leatherman and cut the tag from the sleeve of my jacket.
I fiddled with the stiff collar of the white button-down that was chafing my neck.
– You know, when you said you needed help with business communications, I assumed that was like code for doing something illegal. I didnt realize I needed to actually dress in business attire.
He slipped the Leatherman away and started the Cruiser.
– You have that other bag?
I pointed at the two bags in the footwell, one containing my sneakers, stinking jeans and T and socks, the other holding the odds and ends hed bought at the Goodwill.
– Yeah.
I clicked the heels of the worn loafers that were the only black shoes in the shop that fit me.
– Hey are these technically work clothes? Can I write these off? I mean, with what I make, a twenty-five-dollar suit and six-dollar shoes are major deductions.
We drove down a long boulevard of beige stucco apartment buildings and strip malls, the mission school architectural palette of Los Angeles as it had blossomed in all its late twentieth-century glory.
Gabe shook his head.
– I wouldnt know how to file a tax return.
The ride west on the 101, and then south on the 405, was undertaken to the accompanying squawk of the police-band radio mounted under the dash, calling out numbered codes and responses that Gabe kept one ear cocked for. I was reminded of listening to a ball game with certain avid ap-preciators who have moved on from rooting for one team or the other, and became highly tuned appreciators of the game and its nuances. Gabe hemmed, grunted, clucked his tongue and, once, snorted in reaction to the story the radio was telling him.
As the 405 cut past the Veterans Administration Healthcare Center, I pointed at the radio.
– Anything good?
He leaned forward, turned the volume up slightly, and tsked at whatever the cops were currently getting up to.
I nodded.
– Just tell me when someone wins.
And I closed my eyes.
– Were here.
I opened my eyes on a residential neighborhood of fake Tudors and Georgians and haciendas with large front yards crawling with bougainvil-lea, gardenia bushes, and lemon trees in the midst of huge lawns and thick ficus sculpted into hedge. I looked around for a street sign and found one up at the corner. Butterfield and Manning.
I rubbed sleep from my eyes.
– West side, huh? No wonder I had to dress up.
Gabe looked at the house we were parked in front of, a large stucco job done up adobe Pueblo style. Lots of terra-cotta tiles jutting over the eaves, long cone chimney, large wooden gate mounted in an arch in the garden wall.
He took a notebook from inside his jacket and flipped it open and looked at the pencil marks on the page and checked them against the address numbers painted on the curb. Satisfied hed not become suddenly dyslexic, he put the notebook away and looked me over.
– Do up that top button and cinch that tie.
I dabbed some sweat on my forehead.
– Cant I do this business-casual? Kind of hot to be wearing this shit in the first place.
He waited.
I did up the top button and cinched the tie.
– Better?
He nodded.
– Lets go.
I got out of the car and looked for a bell or something.
– Web.
I looked back at Gabe, standing at the rear of the Cruiser with the window rolled down and the gate dropped. He reached in and pulled the gur-ney halfway out.
– Give me a hand with this.
Again I found myself in a dead mans bedroom while someone else did the paperwork elsewhere.
– Do you like this one?
I looked at the purple suit the old woman had draped over the corpse on the bed.
– Its a nice color.
She fingered the material.
– Yes, it is. He liked to be seen, Wally
Whatever Wally once liked, it didnt matter now. And being seen wasnt something he was going to be doing much more of. Judging by the suit, hed been built on a scale that might have had him approaching Po Sins rarefied air, but the withered thing lost in the bedclothes could be swaddled in just the vest.
The woman sat on the edge of the bed, the suit overflowing her lap.
– Such a nice suit. Will they cut the back out of it to get him in?
I looked down the hall and longed for Gabe to get the fuck back in there.
– Im not certain, maam. I think so. But I cant. Im new to the job.
She took the corpses hand in hers.
– Really? And do you like it so far?
I ran my eyes over the bedpan and oxygen tank and wheelchair and rows of pill bottles, all the other accoutrements of a long and miserable death that littered the room.
– Its OK.
– Must be sobering work for such a young man. Not very exciting.
I considered the last forty-eight hours of my life.
– Maam, there is never a dull moment.
She looked at the dead man again.
– Well, I suppose it must be very different. Each time. Wally is the second husband Ive outlived. We were only married fifteen years. My first, we were married thirty. Cancer got him, too.
She arranged the suit over him again, resting her hand on his chest.
– Fucking cancer.
– Thanks for this, Gabe.
He pointed at the catch near my hand.
– Squeeze there.
I squeezed and the gurneys legs collapsed and we lowered the impossibly weightless corpse.
– No, seriously, thanks for this. The fair warning and all is what I particularly appreciate.
– Lift.
We lifted and slid the gurney into the back of the Cruiser and Gabe leaned in and flipped the levers that locked the wheels in place.
I loosened my tie.
– If it wasnt for that, Id have walked into that situation totally unprepared for what I was going to be dealing with. Never would have been ready to chat with a grieving widow and help her to pick out a burial suit for her second dead husband. So thanks. I would have truly been out of my depth without your aid and assistance.
He swung the gate up and the black-tinted window rolled closed.
– Lets go.
I walked around and got in.
– Sure, lets go. But only if we can do this again right now. That was such a walk in the park, I cant wait to repeat it.
He put the key in the ignition.
I clapped both hands to my cheeks.
– Such a lovely, life-affirming experience, Mr. Gabe. That just put everything into perspective. That just made me realize how sweet my life is and how I need to live it to its fullest before it slips away.
He turned the ignition.
– Glad to hear all that, Web. Glad I could help.
I dropped my hands and settled into my seat, becoming aware that sarcasm and irony had no place in whatever laconic universe Gabe lived in.
– So what now, drop him at Woodlawn or someplace?
He put the car in gear.
– Just a quick errand first.
He looked at me.
– Dont worry, we dont have to bury him ourselves.
He pulled from the curb.
I looked over my shoulder at the body under the sheet.
– Wouldnt have surprised me at this point.
– Isnt Woodlawn west?
By way of answer Gabe continued east on Olympic.
– Please tell me were not picking up another body.
He gestured at the back of the station wagon.
– Theres only room for one.
I continued rolling up my sleeves.
– Thank God, I thought I was gonna have to put my jacket on again.
Just past the 3 Day Suit Broker he took a right on Federal, cruised slow, and pulled to the curb beyond Lasky Coachworks. I looked out at the auto shops and A-American Self Storage.
– Nice spot. Looking to get lucky?
He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned and pulled a red fuel bottle from one of the camping gear milk crates behind his seat.
– Hand me that jug we bought.
I picked up one of the bags from the Goodwill and pulled out the little clay moonshine jug with a cartoon of a drunken hillbilly stenciled on the side.
– Gloves. Gloves.
I looked at the black leather gloves Gabe was slipping onto his hands.
– Didnt I tell you to bring gloves?
– Theres a dead body in the vehicle.
Gabe finished filling the jug with camp fuel and handed me the red bottle.
– Hold that between your legs.
I placed the bottle between my thighs, the fumes strong in my face.
– A dead body Gabe. And Im virtually certain youre preparing to do something extremely illegal. Wouldnt it be best if whatever that is were done in the absence of a corpse?
He held out a hand.
– Get that glider out.
I took the Styrofoam glider from the Goodwill bag.
– Yes, lets play with this. Lets play with this and talk about the sudden attack of crazy you are suffering from.
– Break it up into pieces. Little ones. No, smaller. Small enough to fit in the jug. Good.
He took the pieces I handed him and dropped them down the neck of the jug.
– Now the cork.
I handed him the cork and watched as he worked it into the jug, using the heel of his palm to pound it snug, flush to the lip.
I dropped the mauled remains of the glider back in the bag.
– OK, so were not going to toss the glider around. But. Fuck. Fuck, Gabe. What the fuck are we doing here?
– That baggie of junk jewelry in there.
I dug it out.
He shook his head.
– No, dump out the jewelry, just give me the bag. And that bandanna, stuff it down into the fuel bottle.
I used my index finger to stuff the Bon Jovi bandanna hed bought into the fuel bottle.
– This is fucked up, man.
– Now pull it out, carefully, and put it in here.
He held the baggie open right next to the fuel bottle. I pulled the bandanna free, and dropped it in the baggie, a little fuel dribbling my thighs.
– Now seal that bottle and put it away and tear off a strip of duct tape from that roll.
I screwed the cap back onto the bottle, put it in its milk crate, found the silver roll of tape and tore off a strip and handed it to him and watched as he used the tape to attach the sealed baggie to the side of the jug.
– Hold this.
He offered me the bomb.
I measured the distance I had traveled down this road I was on. I tried really fucking hard to figure out how I got from sprawling on the couch in Chevs tattoo parlor to the moment when a stoic ex-gangbanger corpse fetcher was asking me to take possession of his jumbo Molotov cocktail. I measured and weighed the consequences of my actions in the next few minutes.
Sort of.
– Fuck it. Give me that thing.
I held it while Gabe spilled rubbing alcohol from his first-aid kit onto a rag and carefully wiped down the jug, shifting my grip so he could get every surface.
Done with the fingerprint wipe, he nodded and patted his pockets.
– Dont suppose you have a light?
I brightened significantly.
– What? Hell no! I dont smoke! Wow, too bad, guess that means we have to delay the big firebombing.
He reached into one of the milk crates, took out a bag of disposable lighters, and allowed the corner of his mouth to tip slightly upward.
– I was just joking. Here, let me have that thing.
I let him have the thing, delighted to have discovered just what kind of scenario brought out the prankster in him.
I watched as he got out of the car and walked to a weathered brick building that I had taken for one of the garages, but saw now by its sign was not.
– Oh, oh fuck. Gabe, shit no.
But he was well beyond hearing my little gasps of dismay, and flicked the lighter and held the flame to the edge of the baggie, patiently waiting till it caught fire and ignited the fuel-soaked bandanna within. Pocketing the lighter, he raised the jug high and brought it down, throwing it at an angle under the van at the curb.
The jug shattered, spilling flaming jelly over the asphalt under the van, fire tickling the undercarriage and licking up the sides. Gabe walked back to the Cruiser, silhouetted by the flames, and climbed in.
He looked at the small inferno, looked at me, the fire in the lenses of his sunglasses.
– Well, that should make it clear to them where we stand.
He started the car and pulled easily from the curb, rolling slowly by the burning van as the front door of Aftershock Trauma Cleaning slammed open and a wiry bald man just barely five feet tall, brandishing a broom handle, ran out followed by Dingbang and several other Aftershockers.
The wiry guy made straight for the Cruiser, the broom handle cocked over his shoulder. Behind him, Dingbang was fumbling with a set of keys, trying to find one to open the drivers door on the van, dancing side to side to avoid the thrashing flames.
Gabe stuck a hand under his seat.
– Stupid sons of bitches.
The wiry guy was coming at my window, mouth moving, spittle flying, curses lost in the roar of the flames. My window rolled down as he reached the car, the broom handle bouncing off the chrome trim instead of shattering the glass.
– Fuckinguslesslyingshitdogeatingfuckwadambushingdicksuckers!
He started to bring the handle back up.
I twisted around, trying to squirm between the seats to join the dead body in the back of the station wagon.
Gabe shoved me back down in my seat, leaned across me, and stuck the gun in his hand out the window.
– Drop that shit and back up out the way, Morton.
Morton pulled up, dropped the broom handle and backed up out the way.
– Fuckingniggerfuckingshitdogfuckingniggernigger.
Gabe pointed the gun at the van where Dingbang was still trying to get the door open while the flames grew higher.
– Cover your ears, Web.
I covered my ears and jerked and screamed each of the three times Gabe pulled the trigger. My screams were somewhat louder than those of the men scattering on the street, away from the van where all three bullets had dimpled the hood next to Dingbang, sending him first to the ground and then crawling behind a dumpster at the curb.
Only Morton kept his place, pointing at Gabe, mouth tight shut now. Shaping the finger of his other hand into a pistol, he pointed it at his own head, and pulled the trigger.
Gabe shifted the aim of his gun, centered the bead on Mortons chest.
– Not wise, Morton, threatening a man with a pistol in his hand.
Morton seemed to make a similar assessment of the situation and dropped both hands to his sides. But was, I can only assume, the kind of man who cant leave well enough alone.
– Fuck you, nigger.
Gabe nodded.
– Thats enough of that.
I covered my ears again, and the windows of the Aftershock shop exploded one after another while I did the flinch and scream thing again.
He settled back into his seat, tucked the gun between his thighs, put the car in gear, and drove slowly past where Morton had thrown himself on the street, screaming newly invented obscenities that I couldnt hear for the sharp ringing in my ears.
Of course, I did hear it when the vans gas tank blew and a fireball climbed up the sky, but we were some ways down the street by then.
Gabe observed the detonation in the rearview and, nodding his head, raised his voice over the ringing in his own ears.
– Stupid crackers, Id have let them, theyd have climbed in that thing and tried to drive it off the fire, got their asses blown to hell.
I turned from staring out the back window as he took us round the corner onto Santa Monica Boulevard.
– Youre a paragon of charity and compassion, Gabe. A real model to the rest of us when faced with the opportunity to think of our fellow mans well-being before our own.
He took the gun from between his legs and put it back under his seat.
– Good of you to say so, Web.
He straightened his tie.
– Now lets go drop that stiff.
One of the keys on the big ring in Gabes glove box got us into Woodlawn and we rolled the gurney down an empty tile corridor, one wheel balky and loud.
Gabe stopped at a steel door.
– Hold up.
He took the ring off his belt, sorted keys, and unlocked the door.
– OK.
He pushed the door open and we rolled into the morgue.
I held up.
– Wow.
Gabe looked at the butterflied corpse on the table in the middle of the room.
– Yeah, its a sight. Come on.
He guided the gurney to the back of the prep room and jerked the handle on the door of a walk-in.
– Park it here. OK. Got the legs, by the heels there. And lift.
We swung the body onto an empty rack at the side of the walk-in.
I looked at the dead in their rows.
– Lotta dead people, man.
Gabe took a look.
– Yeah. And the world isnt running out of raw supplies to make more.
We walked back down the corridor, the jittery wheel squeaking.
Gabe pulled up and tapped it with the toe of his shiny black shoe.
– Got to take that off and straighten it out tonight. No one wants their dead rolling out of their home on a gurney sounds like a shopping cart with a bum wheel.
Outside he locked up behind us.
I pointed at the keys.
– So you work for Woodlawn?
– No. Work for a company that does accommodations all over. Night shift I handle, never know if someone will be around to let you in.
He pointed at the Cruiser and we took the gurney over.
– Funeral homes contract with the service. Give us keys so we have access. Got keys to pretty much every home from the Valley down to Long Beach.
We dropped the gurney down to its wheels, lifted it into the back of the station wagon and swung the door shut.
I rested my ass on the gleaming chrome bumper.
– So, Gabe, teil me, hows one go about getting the job as the grim specter of death?
Gabe took a clean white handkerchief from his breast pocket, blotted his upper lip, tucked the handkerchief away and pointed at the car.
– Lets go.
I circled to the passenger door and got in.
– Thats OK. I understand youre the reticent type. I just thought that since we were accessories in a few felonies together that you might warm up a little and share a couple biographical details. For the sake of conversation.
He pulled his seatbelt across the shoulder and buckled it into place.
– I make an observation here, Web?
I buckled my own belt.
– Sure, but dont go crazy. Youve already spoke more in the last fifteen minutes than I thought was possible. Dont want you to sprain your tongue or anything.
He nodded.
– No danger. No danger.
– Good. Well, as long as youre careful, what is it youve observed?
He licked the pad of his thumb and rubbed a spot on the inside of the windshield.
– Some looks. A few silences.
I nodded.
– Wow, man. Fascinating stuff.
He looked at the speck hed rubbed onto his thumb.
– It is. In its own way.
– Uh-huh. Well. Thanks, Gabe. That was enlightening. Thanks for the observations.
He took out the handkerchief again and wiped his thumb on it.
– The way you and Po Sin talk about some things. Dont talk about others. The way I know Po Sin, and the way he is around you, that suggests things. About you, I mean.
– Deeper and deeper, Gabe. Deeper and deeper.
He tucked the handkerchief away.
– Way I know Po Sin, how little he keeps from me, lets me know that whatever it is you two talk about where youre not talking about anything, that its pretty personal to you.
I scratched at a spot on my new old slacks.
He turned his lenses on me.
– A person, hes got a past. Everyone dragging one behind them. You want to know how I ended up driving dead people around? Cleaning up after them? Well, thats my past, aint it?
I nodded.
– Yeah. I get it.
He shook his head.
– No. You dont. See, point here isnt mind your own goddamn business. Point is, Web, you want to know how it is I can be comfortable with the dead?
He looked out the windshield.
– You might first ask how youre so comfortable with the dead.
He fired the engine.
– Whats that they say about familiarity that I read somewhere?
– Breeds contempt?
He checked his mirrors, began to back down the drive.
– Way I read that, just means youre around something enough, you get used to it.
We bounced down into the street and he dropped the gearshift into drive and pointed us east.
– Me and Po Sin, theres just shit we have reason to have gotten used to when we were younger. Thats all.