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.

Chevs Apache wasnt out front.

Whether that was good or bad, I couldnt say. Letting another day go past before I could do some serious ass-kissing, well, some serious sarcastic ass-kissing anyway, might be what the doctor ordered. Or it could be one step closer to him being done with my shit and throwing my possessions out the window for me to claim from the street.

From the alley, a sudden burst of dialogue.

– You fucking bitch, you fucked him, didnt you?

– Fuck you.

– You fucking cock tease bitch.

– Fuck you.

– You had his cock in your cunt, didnt you?

– Fuck you.

Going up the stairs, I considered the virtues of being homeless and friendless. The first of these being that no one would offer me a job that would turn into a crime spree.

I unlocked the apartment door, found I was just a little disappointed not to see Dot inside waiting to irritate me, walked into the dark livingroom, got tripped by someone hiding behind the door and went face-first into the carpet.

The someone lurking behind the door put his foot in my back and shoved me deeper into the carpet.

– Wheres our fucking can?

My hands flailed and hit something solid and heavy and I grabbed it.

– Its down the hall.

The foot shoved harder.

– What? What the fuck? Are you fucking? Is that a joke?

Of course it wasnt a joke, I was telling the absolute truth. The can, or bathroom if you will, was indeed down the hall. I wasnt sure why this person was referring to it as our can, or why finding it required battering me, but it was there. Perhaps I was a bit confused. That, along with, you know, my general exhaustion, emotional chaos, and fedupness with being fucked around got the better of my good manners as a host and the next thing I knew I was twisting and swinging the huge old phone my hand had found and listening to it make the kind of heavy thunk against a mans shin that only genuine craftsmanship can produce. This, followed by a faint ringing as the bell inside was jangled by the blow. A tone, oddly, in perfect harmony with the ringing still sounding in my ears from the shots Gabe had fired.

The guy, with what I can only assume was a genuinely desperate bladder condition, hopped off me and dropped into the Barcalounger that Chev had bought at the Melrose Trading Post, and clutched his shin.

– Fuck! Ow! Fuck!

I pushed myself off the floor and went to the wall and turned on the light and looked at him, a guy for whom the terms wiry and ‘pockmarked had been invented. He may also have been the inspiration for gap toothed, scraggly haired and waxen. White trash, I assume, goes without saying. But if one needs to have the point emphasized, I can draw attention to the oversize Dale Earnhardt, Senior, memorial-motif tank top he was wearing.

I blinked and looked at his bandaged shoulder and hand.

– I dont know you.

– You know me, son?

I turned, looked at the guy on the couch who had just spoken. He was tall and lean and wore well-used cowboy boots, jeans, Levi jacket, and a face that was just slightly more weathered than his clothes. Oh, and the gun in his work-gloved hand was really fucking big.

I figured answering him was a good thing to do.

– Im gonna say no and hope its the right answer.

The guy with the bandages picked up the phone and hit me in the back of the neck with it.

– Want our fucking can.

He may have said more nonsensical shit, but I was way too knocked out to hear it.

– Guy wake up, come on, get it together.

I got it together. No, thats a lie. I woke up, but I did not get it together. Not even a little bit. What I did was come to and discover a wrenching pain at the back of my neck, my hands tied behind my back, and the dude with the bandaged hand shoving a cellphone against my ear.

– Someone wants to talk to you, asshole. Wake up and listen.

The phone was ringing. It stopped, the line clicked, and one of those robot voices started talking.

Hello, you have reached 209-673-9003. Please leave a message.

I looked at the guy.

– What should I say?

– What? Say? Just answer the question.

– I. What question? Its voice mail.

– What? Jesus fucking.

He held the phone to his own ear.

– Sonofabitch.

Fingers snapped.

We both looked at the cowboy on the couch with the gun.

– Just dial it again, Talbot.

Talbot disconnected and started to dial.

– Fucker doesnt have any sense.

He listened to the phone ring, nodded at the cowboy.

– Here we go. Hello. Its me. Yeah. Well why the hell didnt you pick up? So take it off vibrate and turn on the damn ringer. No, do it later. OK. She there? Fuck you, I know shes not going anywhere. I meant is she next to you. So put her on.

He stuck the phone against my ear.

I cleared my throat.

– Uh, hello?

– Web?

– Yeeeah?

– Is that you?

– Yeah.

– What the hell are they doing with you?

– I.

I looked at Talbot.

– She wants to know what the hell youre doing with me.

– She? Damn it.

He took the phone from my ear and spoke into it.

– Bitch, just tell him what you were told to say. Jesus.

He put the phone at my ear again.

– Fucking people.

The voice on the phone spoke again, still a little blurred by my ringing ears.

– Web?

– Yeah?

– I think Ive been kidnapped.

I swallowed.

– Soledad?

– They want their container, Web. They say to get it for them fast or theyll do something to me.

– Wait. Hang on. I.

I looked at the Talbot.

– What container?

He slapped me.

– The can, fucker. Listen to the girl.