Read Online The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death by Charlie Huston - Free Book Online
Authors: Charlie Huston
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gored all over the wall.
—Guess he showed it who was boss.
In the driveway Gabe and I put on our Tyveks and I watched Po Sin palm the deputy a fifty.
—Thanks for the referral, Mercer. Hope we can do some more business over here.
Mercer pocketed the cash.
—No problem.
He opened the door of his patrol car.
—Far as I'm concerned, Aftershock's off the referral list. Last job I put them onto, a teenager did her wrists in the bathtub, right. Found out she was pregnant or something. Anyway, door closed. Hardly any splatter at all. Plastic shower curtain. Couple towels. Easy as hell. A month after they were in there, the girl's brother uses the tub for the first time, to wash the family dog, right. Has Fido in there, running the water to get it warm how his best little friend likes it. What happens is, the water starts backing up, starts filling the tub, and it's fucking red. Drain was choked with dry blood and feces from the girl. Those Aftershock rocket scientists, they poured some Drano in there and called it a day. Little boy is already traumatized from his sister having to take
a real long nap
, and now bloody water's gushing up from the drain and his dog is spazzing out. Family calls Aftershock, pretty justifiably upset, and Morton tells them it's not his problem. Tells them he did his job and they signed off on the work. He'll be happy to send someone over, but he'll have to draw up a new invoice. Fucking prick. And guess who gets the next call? They have my fucking card ’cause I was first on the scene. Want to know why the people I suggested to them to clean up after their
tragedy
won't take care of their responsibilities? Want to know what I can do about it, right? Well, last thing I need is these people getting upset with me and putting in a call to the Civil Litigation Unit and end up with those fuckers asking me what the hell I'm doing giving referrals for private contractors. So I call fucking Morton and tell him to get his ass over there and take care of it before I call a friend in Parking Enforcement and see that his fucking van has a ticket on it every time it's on the street.
He took his hat off and tossed it inside the car.
—So fuck them and fuck the guild. From now on, you're top of the list west as well as east side. And I'll spread the word.
Po Sin gave him a thumbs-up.
—Much appreciated.
—My pleasure. I refer you guys, you get the job done. And you've never stiffed me.
He got in the car and pulled down the short drive to the PCH, waited for a hole in the traffic, and headed south.
Po Sin came over to the van, stripping off his Clean Team shirt and reaching for the Tyvek Gabe held out to him.
—To protect and to serve, Web, to protect and to serve.
I scooped brains.
I scooped them with a wide plastic paint scraper from a ninety-nine-cent store, and I wiped them onto blue industrial paper towels, I dropped the towels in red biohazard bags and dropped the bags in a fifty-gallon plastic garbage can with a Clean Team sticker on the side.
Po Sin watched.
—Spray some more up there.
I took the spray bottle from tool belt and sprayed some hydrogen peroxide, and specks of blood and brain I'd missed on the counter foamed white.
Po Sin nodded, pursed his lips.
—See, you miss stuff. No matter how close you look, there's always more.
He took a step toward the bedroom where he and Gabe were dealing with the real environmental disaster.
—And stop taking off your mask.
I blew out my cheeks.
—What, it doesn't smell or anything, there aren't any cockroaches trying to crawl in my mouth.
—No, but there's dry blood, and it will flake and go airborne and you'll inhale it.
I pointed at the fogger in the bedroom.
—I thought the Microban killed everything.
—It does. It should. But it's still considered a bad idea to breathe other people's dry blood. Trust me on that one.
—Fine, fine.
I put the mask over my mouth and went back to scraping and wiping. Cleaning the blood and
—Guess he showed it who was boss.
In the driveway Gabe and I put on our Tyveks and I watched Po Sin palm the deputy a fifty.
—Thanks for the referral, Mercer. Hope we can do some more business over here.
Mercer pocketed the cash.
—No problem.
He opened the door of his patrol car.
—Far as I'm concerned, Aftershock's off the referral list. Last job I put them onto, a teenager did her wrists in the bathtub, right. Found out she was pregnant or something. Anyway, door closed. Hardly any splatter at all. Plastic shower curtain. Couple towels. Easy as hell. A month after they were in there, the girl's brother uses the tub for the first time, to wash the family dog, right. Has Fido in there, running the water to get it warm how his best little friend likes it. What happens is, the water starts backing up, starts filling the tub, and it's fucking red. Drain was choked with dry blood and feces from the girl. Those Aftershock rocket scientists, they poured some Drano in there and called it a day. Little boy is already traumatized from his sister having to take
a real long nap
, and now bloody water's gushing up from the drain and his dog is spazzing out. Family calls Aftershock, pretty justifiably upset, and Morton tells them it's not his problem. Tells them he did his job and they signed off on the work. He'll be happy to send someone over, but he'll have to draw up a new invoice. Fucking prick. And guess who gets the next call? They have my fucking card ’cause I was first on the scene. Want to know why the people I suggested to them to clean up after their
tragedy
won't take care of their responsibilities? Want to know what I can do about it, right? Well, last thing I need is these people getting upset with me and putting in a call to the Civil Litigation Unit and end up with those fuckers asking me what the hell I'm doing giving referrals for private contractors. So I call fucking Morton and tell him to get his ass over there and take care of it before I call a friend in Parking Enforcement and see that his fucking van has a ticket on it every time it's on the street.
He took his hat off and tossed it inside the car.
—So fuck them and fuck the guild. From now on, you're top of the list west as well as east side. And I'll spread the word.
Po Sin gave him a thumbs-up.
—Much appreciated.
—My pleasure. I refer you guys, you get the job done. And you've never stiffed me.
He got in the car and pulled down the short drive to the PCH, waited for a hole in the traffic, and headed south.
Po Sin came over to the van, stripping off his Clean Team shirt and reaching for the Tyvek Gabe held out to him.
—To protect and to serve, Web, to protect and to serve.
I scooped brains.
I scooped them with a wide plastic paint scraper from a ninety-nine-cent store, and I wiped them onto blue industrial paper towels, I dropped the towels in red biohazard bags and dropped the bags in a fifty-gallon plastic garbage can with a Clean Team sticker on the side.
Po Sin watched.
—Spray some more up there.
I took the spray bottle from tool belt and sprayed some hydrogen peroxide, and specks of blood and brain I'd missed on the counter foamed white.
Po Sin nodded, pursed his lips.
—See, you miss stuff. No matter how close you look, there's always more.
He took a step toward the bedroom where he and Gabe were dealing with the real environmental disaster.
—And stop taking off your mask.
I blew out my cheeks.
—What, it doesn't smell or anything, there aren't any cockroaches trying to crawl in my mouth.
—No, but there's dry blood, and it will flake and go airborne and you'll inhale it.
I pointed at the fogger in the bedroom.
—I thought the Microban killed everything.
—It does. It should. But it's still considered a bad idea to breathe other people's dry blood. Trust me on that one.
—Fine, fine.
I put the mask over my mouth and went back to scraping and wiping. Cleaning the blood and
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