He smiled at his sister.

– Shes always good for lending a hand. Any wonder I got pissed when she told me some assholed been messing with her today of all days. Then shes gonna call that asshole to help us out over here? I mean, what the fuck, right?

He pointed at her.

– Above-line expenditures kill a production, Sol.

She looked at the long ash on the end of her cigarette, tipped it and watched it fall.

– Im just trying to help, Jaime. I can leave at any time.

– Aw, dont be like that. Get all bitch on me.

– A bloody hotel rooms not the same as when you dropped the cookie jar. Something happens to that guy you cut, you want this room to be more than spie and span.

– Nothins gonna happen to him. He was fine. I just didnt want to pay for, you know, room damages and shit.

She stared at the tiny coal at the end of her nearly dead smoke.

– Fine. Whatever you need. Taken care of. No problem.

– Shit, Sol. Cmon.

I got to my feet.

– Well, I dont think the rooms gonna pass any kind of close scrutiny by a team of crack experts with ultraviolet lamps, but its as clean as I can make it.

And it was. Walls and furniture gleaming in the lamplight. The only signs remaining to tell that the carpet had been bloodied were patches where the original color showed brighter from my scrubbing. The offending bedding stuffed in the wastebasket with the paper towels.

A job well done.

A potentially very criminal job, well done.

Details, details, details.

Jaime lurched up from his chair, scattering the litter of tiny bottles at his feet, and toed the wastebasket.

– So all you gotta do is wash those out an’ you can get the fuck out of here.

I peeled the rubber gloves from my hand and dropped them on top of the stained sheets.

– Jaime, my man, I dont know how to tell you this, and I dont much want to, but Im afraid youre going to have to eat the deposit on the sheets.

He watched me as I packed the cleaning gear back into the carrier.

– Fuck is that supposed to mean?

I wedged a pack of disposable paint scrapers into the carrier.

– It means that shit is not coming out.

– Little bleach. Fuck do you know?

I pointed at the sheets.

– I had a girlfriend once, had the heaviest periods you ever saw. Dated the girl for over a year, and I threw away enough sheets in that year to know a lost cause when I see one. Those are dead soldiers.

Soledad came over.

– Can you get rid of them for us?

I nodded.

– Yeah, I can get rid of them. I can do that.

She nodded.

– Thanks.

I bent to pick up the wastebasket and Jaime slapped my hand away.

– Fuckinway man. Sheets stay here.

I looked at the clock. Almost four. My eyes ached. My head and my mouth throbbed. I dont want to talk about how I felt below the waist. Suffice to say, I was really looking forward to lying down.

I picked up the carrier.

– OK by me, the sheets stay here.

I started for the door and heard his knife snap open behind me.

– Fuckin’ freeze, asshole. No one leaves till these sheets are clean and this location is wrapped.

I turned and looked at him, swaying drunk, knife in hand.

I set the carrier on the dresser, between the TV and the lamp.

– Do you have a gun?

– What?

I looked at Soledad.

– Does he have a gun?

She tossed the stub of her smoke through the bathroom door in the direction of the tub.

– No.

Jaime twirled the knife, almost lost his grip on it, recovered, settled into a credible kung fu stance that I was pretty sure I recognized from Chevs copy of Game of Death. -Dont need a gun.

I picked up the lamp, knocked the shade from it, yanked the plug from the wall, turned it upside down and showed him the pointed corners of the heavy wood base.

– And I have a lamp. If you take one more step toward me with that knife, I will hit you as hard as I can with this lamp. If you die, I will clean up the mess and leave. If you dont die, you can clean up your own blood. Asshole.

He looked at his sister.

– Sol?

She went to the closet and got a jacket and pulled it on.

– Dont look at me, Jaime.

He jabbed the knife at the air.

– Dudes threatening your brother. Gonna let that happen?

She walked to the wastebasket.

– Still willing to get rid of this stuff?

I hefted the lamp.

– Yeah. Sure.

She picked up the wastebasket.

– Can I come with?

– Sure.

She came to my side of the room and picked up the cleaning carrier.

– Lets go.

I followed her to the door, eyes on Jaime, the lamp held out.

– It wont cost much, theyre crap sheets.

He dropped his arms to his sides, knife dangling from his fingers.

– Fuck do you know? Didnt even clean up the almonds, asshole. Fucking dont call me, Ill call you, fucker.

And I backed from the room, pausing to set the lamp inside the door before I closed it and ran for the van, taking the carrier from Soledad, she taking my hand, running along with me. Laughing.

– Howd you get out here?

– Taxi.

I took my eyes from the road.

– You took a taxi from Malibu to Carson?

She kept her eyes closed.

– Yeah. They say when youve had a loss in the family, a sudden and unexpected loss, they say driving is a bad idea.

– Whys that?

– Because youre distracted, I guess. I mean, I dont know by what. Unless they mean the memory of finding your dad with his head blown all over the room.

She opened her eyes, shook her head, pinched her cheek.

– I think Im going to have to learn not to be so flippant about that. Im not handling it as well as I thought I could.

– So the taxi was probably a good call.

– Probably. Of course, the driver no doubt assumed I was coming down here for a late-night hookup with some rough trade Id been chatting with online. But Ill live with the dim opinion of my cabby this once.

– We should all be so well adjusted.

She waved a hand.

– Well, well adjusted, lets not get carried away.

I smiled.

– Yeah, especially as your brother seems to have the market cornered on that particular quality.

– Hes really just my half brother.

– Yeah, same mom, I got that.

She stopped inspecting the glories advertised on the massive illuminated signs looming over the 405 North mega car lots of Torrance, and looked at me.

– Howd you get that?

I hit my blinker and changed lanes to get out from behind a Pinto stuffed with the amassed possessions of its owner; boxes and bags heaped from the floorboards to the headliner and smashed against the windows, leaving just enough space for the driver, one of the rolling homeless of L.A. I glanced at him, talking endlessly to himself, as we passed.

I looked back at the road ahead.

– He kept saying your dad. I just assumed that meant you had different dads is all.

She looked back at the signs.

– Oooh, Detective Web at work. Did you suss out any more family secrets?

– Just that the black sheep of the family back there is also a fucking moron.

– Hardly a secret, that one.

– Yeah, he does rather wear it on his sleeve.

She began going through the pockets of her jacket, searching.

– Hes actually kind of OK. Or he was, anyway. When we were kids. Just spoiled mostly. And starved for attention.

– Interesting combination.

She came up with a hair bungee from her pockets and began to pull her hair into a ponytail.

– Well, my mom is an interesting woman with strange abilities. Especially when it comes to screwing with her kids’ heads.

I adjusted the shoulder strap of my seatbelt where it snugged too tight across my neck.