– Hey Im doing this.

She held out a stencil of a little pitchfork-wielding devil.

– What should I use?

Chev looked at it.

– Loose seven for the line work. Straight seven for the color. You need a machine?

She squinted, smiled a little.

– Can I?

He picked up a small plastic case from the desk, undid the clasps on the side and took out a chromed tattoo gun and handed it to her.

– Got to get your own gear, lady.

She took the machine from him.

– I know. Im saving. Thanks.

She started to close the door, saw me and stopped.

– Fuck, Web, what happened? Looks like you got beat up.

I pointed at my split swollen lip, bloody nose and the gash in my forehead.

– Is that what it looks like, Dina? Because Im afraid youre mistaken. Wounds like these, you only get them one place. Between your moms thighs when she crosses her legs too fast.

She flipped me off on her way out.

– Fuck you, you dick.

The door closed and Chev faced me, flicking ash on the floor.

– Feeling all better?

I ripped the paper wrapper off a gauze pad.

– Im getting there.

He stubbed his butt in a tin ashtray with a Hamms label enameled at the bottom.

– Good. Because seeing as the topic of your dickness has come up, I thought we might talk about you being such a huge fucking phallus to Dot.

I pressed the pad over the oozing gash.

– She call you or something?

He fingered another smoke from his pack.

– Yeah, man. She called me. She called to tell me the homeless couple was screaming in the alley for help and that you were all fucked up down there. She hadnt called me, youd still be there, asshole. And, by the way, she added that you flipped out on her and said some fucked up shit about me.

I used another pad to wipe dry bloody snot from my upper lip.

– Yeah, well, I may have been less inclined to say fucked up shit about you if you hadnt been talking to her about shit thats none of her business and that you should know better than to talk about with chicks youre nailing and that you know damn well youre gonna kick to the curb next week.

He was quiet for a moment, listening to the high buzz of Dina hitting his machine, tuning the power. He put his head out the door.

– Dina, baby, no higher than ten volts on that machine. Itll get squirrelly

He pulled his head back in and closed the door.

– Im not gonna be kicking Dot to the curb next week.

– Fine. Week after next.

He lit up and blew smoke.

– I like her. Im not kicking her anyplace. Shes cool and shes gonna be around for awhile. Adapt to the concept.

I looked for my Mobil shirt.

– Fine. You adapt to the concept that you shouldnt be talking about some things to chicks youve been fucking for twenty-four hours. No matter how much youre deluding yourself about the longevity of your affections for her.

He leaned his back on the door and folded his heavily decorated, gym-enhanced arms over his chest.

– Web, with all due respect and love, you are not the only one whos dealing with that shit.

I stopped looking for the shirt.

– What?

He raised a hand.

– Look, man, Im not saying its the same thing, but we live together. You know? And youre my best friend. And this shit aint easy. I mean, all this, this whole asshole of the year thing youre doing, it aint easy. Someone, someone I like, asks me why youre such a dick, thats a complicated answer. Because I want her to know that youre not a dick. Well, not just a dick. That youre cool. So I have to tell her some things. And seeing as how we are best friends and seeing as how we live together and seeing as how because of that, what happens to you has a tendency to rain shit all over me, I dont feel too fucking bad about telling Dot what the hell the deal is.

I touched my swollen lip. It hurt.

Chev moved away from the door.

– Cuz the thing is, man, its not just you. I mean, I may be about the only friend you got left willing to put up with your shit, and I got to tell you, man, it aint fucking easy. It is trying, man. It is hard work. And I appreciate you leaving some of Theas cash this morning. And I think its great youre doing some work for Po Sin. And if you cant be fucking civil to my friends, I can deal with it. But you have to cut me some slack on how I deal. Cuz like Im saying, this is not just your thing.

He put a hand on my shoulder.

– OK?

I nodded. I looked at him. I tapped the middle of my forehead.

– You got something here.

He put a hand to his own forehead.

– Here?

I nodded again.

– Yeah, you got a big weeping vagina thats whining meeeeeeee, ooooooh meeeeeeee.

He took his hand from his forehead.

– Not cool, man.

I brushed his hand from my shoulder.

– Wheres my fucking shirt?

He went to the deer antler coatrack in the corner and tossed me my shirt. I snagged it from the air and the hundreds Id stuffed in the pocket slipped out and fluttered to the floor.

He looked at the cash.

– Been slingin’ dope?

I fiddled with my shirt, picking at some dry blood on the collar.

– No.

He pointed at the money.

– Whered that come from? Thought your note said Thea sent an ascending sequence.

– She did.

– Thought your note said it ended in nine.

– It did.

– Thats like a grand there.

– Yeah.

– So wheres it come from?

I didnt look up.

– L.L. gave it to me.

He didnt say anything. I looked up. He stared at me, the muscles under the MOM and DAD tattoos centered on either biceps tensed.

I pointed at the money.

– I didnt ask for it or anything, man. He just, he gave me a book and the money was in there. I. I just went to see him. I needed to. Chev, I havent seen him in two years. I wanted to see if he was alive for fuck sake. I just. Shit, man.

– Get the fuck out of my shop. Pick up that money and get out.

I squatted and started collecting the money.

– I need to use the phone. I have to call Po Sin.

He crossed to the door.

– Theres a payphone on the corner.

I stood, the money in my fist.

– I wasnt gonna spend it, Chev. I was gonna give it away. I didnt even know I had it. He put it in a book.

– Web.

– Yeah.

– I love you, man.

– I know.

He opened the door.

– But if you dont shut up and get out of here right now, Im gonna love you a lot less, you son of a bitch.

I could have said something else. I could have said something so unbelievably dicky it would have made him laugh. I could have torn the money into little pieces and went and flushed them down the can. I could have done a lot of things. But it was kind of a delicate situation. And I dont have a good track record with doing the right thing in delicate situations.

So I just got the fuck out.

Cuz down to one friend in the world, you tend to get anxious about how long you can hang onto him before you fuck up and do that one last thing that cant be forgiven and you get left all alone for the rest of your life until you die on the toilet in a stinking SRO apartment and no one finds your corpse till it swells up and tumbles from the can and bursts open and even the maggots have had enough of you and move on.

Besides, he had a right to be pissed.

After all, my dad did kill his parents.

It was an accident.

Does that go without saying?

Does it matter?

Does it matter that he didnt actually take a gun from his pocket and shoot them in the face? Does it matter that they were all close friends? Does it matter that they had a standing Friday night date at the Palm in the Beverly Hills Hotel from years back, from well before my mom took off, from before Chev and me were even born? Does it matter that three of them drove drunk back up the Canyon every week, year after year, always in L.L.s latest Mercedes, always, even in the rain, with the top down? Does it matter that, despite L.L.s blood alcohol level, the inquest showed that the true blame for the head-on collision lay with the driver whod been coming down Laurel Canyon, screaming around corners on the wrong side of the road? Does it matter that L.L. was acquitted of vehicular manslaughter? Does it matter that L.L. did his utmost to adopt Chev, and that, when he couldnt fight the obvious objections, he lent every bit of financial support he could to Chev and his foster family?