Part 7 (1/2)

-Nephew.

-No, f.u.c.k you! f.u.c.k you and this s.h.i.+t job. I f.u.c.king quit! See how long that scrawny f.u.c.ker lasts doing the heavy lifting for you. See how long he lasts when there's trouble. f.u.c.k you and f.u.c.k your f.u.c.king wife who can't take a f.u.c.king phone message and.

Whoever else was meant to be f.u.c.ked had their name deleted by Po Sin's hand wrapping around his nephew's throat and shoving him into the graffitied brick wall of the hotel.

Po Sin held him there. Bang turned red.

I took a couple steps.

-Po Sin.

He looked at me. Looked at his nephew. And let go.

Bang slumped, gagged and wheezed. Po Sin put a hand on his chest.

-Dingbang? I. Dingbang.

Bang knocked the hand away.

-Don't call me that!

He pushed from the wall and ran to the end of the alley.

-Gonna pay for touching me, man! No one touches Bang!

He took a step, stopped, and pointed at me.

-You too, s.h.i.+tbag, you're dead!

And he rounded the corner of the alley and was gone.

Po Sin stood there for a second, turned and walked toward me.

-Sorry. He's my nephew. But. He.

-He's a d.i.c.k, Po Sin.

He pulled the end of his moustache.

-Well. Yes. Like father like son. Nothing like working with family to bring out the best in a man.

-Or to make him want to strangle them.

He smiled.

-Don't know about you, but some of my family, I don't need to be anywhere near them to want to strangle 'em.

-I find it helps that my mom lives out of state.

-Never had a problem with my mother. My dad I could have throttled a couple times.

-My dad spends all his time in a bar out in Santa Monica. That far west, may as well be another state. He's safe from me.

-Yeah, distance makes the heart grow fonder.

-I didn't say that.

He started for the service entrance.

-My mother and father are both permanently out of reach. And my brother. Well. We're out of touch. Last thing I need at this point is less family.

He stopped and stared at the end of the alley where Bang had disappeared.

I bent and picked up a s.h.i.+tbag and tossed it in the bin.

-He was asking for it, Po Sin.

He kept looking down the alley.

-He's a boy I'm a man.

He turned his head to me.

-A man should be able to retain his composure.

I looked at the s.h.i.+t at my feet.

He made for the entrance.

-It's about lunch. Finish up with that and we'll go grab a bite.

-Where?

He waved a hand over his shoulder.

-Doesn't matter. With a job like this, wherever we eat it's gonna taste like s.h.i.+t.

I watched him go inside. I ma.s.saged my finger and rotated my wrist and swung my arm around, making sure it all worked. Then I started. Putting more s.h.i.+t in the bin.

He was right about lunch.

What with the smell of well-marinated c.r.a.p in our hair and on our clothes and up our noses and down our throats, lunch didn't have much appeal for me. Not so, for the more experienced hands. I watched Po Sin tear into his third cheeseburger, and Gabe sc.r.a.pe the last of his chili from the bottom of the bowl.

Po Sin washed down a bite of burger with chocolate milkshake.

-Different things bother different people.

I picked up one of my fries and took a bite of it. It still tasted like s.h.i.+t.

-So you're saying I shouldn't be disturbed by the fact that having my nasal pa.s.sages smelling like dung ruins my appet.i.te? What relief. I was worried it was me, I was worried I might be some kind of deviant not wanting to eat when all I can smell is a.s.s b.u.t.ter. What a load off, knowing that I'm not alone and everyone has their own problems.