A Dirty Job Chapter 3

3BENEATH THE shape FORTY-ONE BUSIt was two weeks before Charlie left the apartment and walked downhearted to the auto-teller on Columbus thoroughf ar where he first killed a guy. His weapon of choice was the number forty- unmatchable bus, on its way from the Trans request station, by the Bay Bridge, to the Presidio, by the Golden Gate Bridge. If youre going to get take a leak by a bus in San Francisco, you want to go with the forty-one, because you fuck pretty much figure on thither being a nice bridge view.Charlie hadnt re anyy counted on killing a guy that morning time. He had hoped to get some twenties for the register at the thrift store, check his balance, and maybe pick up some sen sit downionalistic mustard at the deli. (Charlie was not a brown mustard kind of guy. brown mustard was the condiment equivalent of skydiving it was okay for race-car drivers and serial killers, still for Charlie, a fine line of Frenchs yellow(a) was all the spice that life required.) Aft er the funeral, friends and relatives had left a mountain of cold cuts in Charlies fridge, which was all hed eaten for the historical two weeks, exclusively now he was down to ham, glum rye, and pre abstruse Enfamil formula, none of which was tolerable with extinct yellow mustard. Hed secured the yellow squeeze bottle and felt safer now with it in his jacket pocket, but when the bus hit the guy, mustard completely slipped Charlies mind.It was a warm day in October, the light had gone autumn well-fixed over the city, the summer fog had ceased its relentless crawl start of the Bay each morning, and there was alone enough breeze that the few sailboats that dotted the Bay looked ilk they susceptibility have been posing for an impressionist painter. In the split second that Charlies victim illuminated that he was being run over, he big businessman not have been happy about the event, but he couldnt have picked a nicer day for it.The guys name was William brook. He was thirty-tw o and worked as a market analyst in the financial district, where he had been headed that morning when he decided to stop at the auto-teller. He was wearing a light wool be make up ones mindm and running shoes, his work shoes were tucked into a leather satchel under his arm. The handle of a bosom umbrella protruded from the side pocket of the satchel, and it was this that caught Charlies attention, for plot of land the handle of the umbrella appe ard to be made of faux walnut tree burl, it was vehement a dull red as if it had been heated in a forge.Charlie stood in the ambiance line trying not to notice, trying to appear uninte tranquillityed, but he couldnt help but stare. It was glowing, for fucks sake, didnt anyone match it?William Creek glanced over his shoulder as he slid his card into the machine, saw Charlie looking at him, therefore tried to will his suit coat to expand into great piece of musicta-ray wings to block Charlies view as he keyed in his PIN number. Creek snatched his card and the expectorated cash from the machine, turned, and headed away quickly toward the corner.Charlie couldnt stick out it any longer. The umbrella handle had begun to pulsate red, like a beating heart. As Creek reached the curb, Charlie said, relieve me. Excuse me, sirWhen Creek turned, Charlie said, Your umbrella At that point, the number forty-one bus was access by means of the interbreeding at Columbus and Vallejo at about thirty-five miles per hour, angling toward the curb for its next stop. Creek looked down at the satchel under his arm where Charlie was pointing, and the heel of his running shoe caught the slight rise of the curb. He started to bear his balance, the sort of thing we all might do on any given day while walking through the city, trip on a crack in the sidewalk and take a rival of quick steps to regain equilibrium, but William Creek took solely one step. Back. Off the curb.You cant in truth sugarcoat it at this point, can you? The numb er forty-one bus creamed him. He flew a corking cardinal feet through the air before he hit the back end window of a SAAB like a great gabardine sack of meat, so bounced back to the pavement and commenced to ooze fluids. His belongings the satchel, the umbrella, a aureate tie bar, a Tag Heuer watch skittered on down the street, ricocheting glum tires, shoes, manhole covers, some coming to rest nearly a block away.Charlie stood at the curb trying to breathe. He could hear a tooting sound, like someone was blowing a toy train whistle it was all he could hear, then someone ran into him and he realized it was the sound of his own rhythmic whimpering. The guy the guy with the umbrella had just been wiped out of the demesne. flock rushed, clusteringed around, a dozen were barking into cell phones, the bus driver nearly flattened Charlie as he rushed down the sidewalk toward the carnage. Charlie staggered after him.I was just going to ask him No one looked at Charlie. It had taken all of his will, as well as a pep talk from his sister, to generate the apartment, and now this?I was just going to tell him that his umbrella was on fire, Charlie said, as if he was explaining to his accusers. solely no one accused him, really. They ran by him, some headed toward the body, some away from it they batted him around and looked back, baffled, like theyd collided with a rough air current or a ghost instead of a man.The umbrella, Charlie said, looking for the evidence. past he spotted it, near down at the next corner, lying in the gutter, still glowing red, pulsating like failing neon. There See But people were gathered around the dead man in a wide semicircle, their hands to their mouths, and no one was cave ining any attention to the scare thin man spouting nonsense behind them.He threaded his way through the crowd toward the umbrella, determined now to confirm his conviction, too far in shock to be afraid. When he was only ten feet away from it he looked up the street to make sure another bus wasnt coming before he ventured off the curb. He looked back just as a delicate, tar-black hand snaked out of the storm drain and snatched the compact umbrella off the street.Charlie indorse away, looking around to see if anyone had seen what he had seen, but no one had. No one even made eye contact. A police officer trotted by and Charlie grabbed his sleeve as he passed, but when the breeze through spun around and his eyes went wide with confusion, then what appeared to be real terror, Charlie let him go. Sorry, he said. Sorry. I can see youve got work to do sorry.The cop shuddered and pushed through the crowd of onlookers toward the battered body of William Creek.Charlie started running, across Columbus and up Vallejo, until his breath and heartbeat in his ears drowned all the sounds of the street. When he was a block away from his shop a great shadow move over him, like a low-flying aircraft or a huge bird, and with it Charlie felt a ch ill joggle up his back. He lowered his head, pumped his arms, and rounded the corner of Mason just as the pipeline car was passing, full of smiling tourists who looked remunerate through him. He glanced up, just for a second, and he feeling he saw something above, disappearing over the roof of the six-story Victorian across the street, then he bolted through the front door of his shop.Hey, boss, Lily said. She was sixteen, pale, and a little bottom heavy her grown-woman form still in menstruate between baby fat and baby bearing. like a shot her whisker happened to be lavender fifties-housewife helmet hair in Easter-basket cellophane pastel.Charlie was bent over, leaning against a case full of curios by the door, sucking in deep spotty gulps of secondhand store mustiness. I think I just killed a guy, he gasped.Excellent, Lily said, ignoring equally his nitty-gritty and his demeanor. Were going to need change for the register.With a bus, Charlie said.Ray called in, she said. Ray Macy was Charlies other employee, a thirty-nine-year-old bachelor with an sick lack of boundaries between the Internet and reality. Hes flying to Manila to meet the love of his life. A Ms. LoveYouLongTime. Rays convinced that they are soul mates.There was something in the sewer, Charlie said.Lily examined a chip in her black nail polish. So I cut school to cover. Ive been doing that since youve been, uh, gone. Im going to need a pull down.Charlie stood up and made his way to the look to. Lily, did you hear what I said?He grabbed her by the shoulders, but she spun out of his grasp. Ouch Fuck. Back off, Asher, you sado freak, thats a new tattoo. She punched him in the arm, hard, and backed away, rubbing her own shoulder. I heard, you. Cease your trippin, sil vous plat. Lately, since discovering Baudelaires Fleurs du Mal in a stack of used intelligences in the back room, Lily had been peppering her speech with French phrases. French better expresses the profound noirness of my existence, she had said.Charlie congeal both hands on the counter to keep them from shaking, then spoke slowly and deliberately, like he was speaking to someone for whom English was a second language Lily, Im having kind of a bad month, and I appreciate that you are throwing away your reproduction so you can come here and alienate customers for me, but if you dont sit down and show me a little fucking human decency, then Im going to have to let you go.Lily sat down on the chrome-and-vinyl diner stool behind the register and pulled her long lavender bangs out of her eyes. So you want me to pay close attention to your confession to murder? Take notes, maybe get an old cassette recorder off the shelf and get everything down on tape? Youre saying that by trying to ignore your limpid distress, which I would have to later recall to the police, so I can be personally trustworthy for sending you to the gas chamber, that Im being inconsiderate?Charlie shuddered. Jeez, Lily. He was continually surprised at the speed and verity of her creepiness. She was like some creepiness child prodigy. But on the bright side, her extreme darkness made him realize that he probably wasnt going to go to the gas chamber.It wasnt that kind of killing. There was something following me, and Silence Lily put her hand up, Id rather not show my employee spirit by committing every detail of your heinous offense to my photographic memory to be recalled in court later. Ill just say that I saw you but you seemed normal for someone without a clue.You dont have a photographic memory.I do, too, and its a curse. I can never forget the futility of You forgot to take out the trash at least eight times become month.I didnt forget.Charlie took a deep breath, the familiarity of arguing with Lily was actually calming him down. Okay then, without looking, what color shirt are you wearing? He raised an eyebrow like he had her there. Lily smiled and for a second he could see that she was just a kid, kind of cute and goofy under the fierce makeup and attitude. Black.Lucky guess.You whop I only own black. She grinned. Glad you didnt ask hair color, I just changed this morning.Thats not good for you, you know. That dye has toxins.Lily lifted the lavender wig to reveal her close-cut maroon locks underneath, then dropped it again. Im all natural. She stood and patted the bar stool. Sit, Asher. Confess. fatigue me.Lily leaned back against the counter, and tilted her head to look attentive, but with her dark eye makeup and lavender hair it came off more like a marionette with a broken string. Charlie came around the counter and sat on the stool. I was just in line behind this William Creek guy, and I saw his umbrella glowingAnd Charlie went through the whole story to her, the umbrella, the bus, the hand from the storm sewer, the bolt for home with the giant dark shadow above the rooftops, and when he was finished, Lily asked, So how do you know his name?Huh? Charlie said. Of al l of the horrible, fantastic things she might have asked about, why that?How do you know the guys name? Lily repeated. You barely spoke to the guy before he bit it. You see it on his receipt or something?No, I He didnt have any thought process how he knew the mans name, but suddenly there was a picture in his head of it written out in big, block letters. He leapt off the stool. I gotta go, Lily.He ran through the door into the stockroom and up the steps.I still need a note for school, Lily shouted from below, but Charlie was dashing through the kitchen, past a large Russian woman who was bouncing his baby daughter in her arms, and into the bedroom, where he snatched up the notepad he kept on his nightstand by the phone.There, in his own blocky handwriting, was written the name William Creek and, under it, the number 12. He sat down hard on the bed, holding the notepad like it was a vial of explosives.Behind him came the heavy steps of Mrs. Korjev as she followed him into the bedroo m. Mr. Asher, what is wrong? You run by like burning at the stake bear.And Charlie, because he was a Beta Male, and there had evolved over millions of years a standard Beta repartee to things inexplicable, said, Someone is fucking with me.Lily was touching up her nail polish with a black conjuring trick crisscross when Stephan, the mailman, came through the shop door.Sup, Darque? Stephan said, sorting a stack of mail out of his bag. He was forty, short, muscular, and black. He wore wraparound sunglasses, which were almost always pushed back on his head over hair braided in tight cornrows. Lily had mixed feelings about him. She liked him because he called her Darque, short for Darquewillow Elventhing, the name under which she received mail at the shop, but because he was cheerful and seemed to like people, she deeply mistrusted him.Need you to sign, Stephan said, offering her an electronic pad, on which she scribbled Charles Baudelaire with great exposit and without even looking .Stephan plopped the mail on the counter. Working alone again? So where is everyone?Rays in the Philippines, Charlies traumatized. She sighed. Weight of the world falls on me Poor Charlie, Stephan said. They say thats the worst thing you can go through, losing a spouse.Yeah, theres that, too. Today hes traumatized because he saw a guy get hit by a bus up on Columbus.Heard about that. He gonna be okay?Well, fuck no, Stephan, he got hit by a bus. Lily looked up from her nails for the first time.I meant Charlie. Stephan winked, despite her harsh tone.Oh, hes Charlie.Hows the baby?Evidently she leaks noxious substances. Lily waved the conjury Marker under her nose as if it might mask the smell of ripened baby.All good, then, Stephan smiled. Thats it for today. You got anything for me?I took in some red vinyl platforms yesterday. Mens size ten.Stephan collected vintage seventies secure wear. Lily was to be on the lookout for anything that came through the shop.How tall?Four inches.Low altitude, Stephan said, as if that explained everything. Take care, Darque.Lily waved her Magic Marker at him as he left, and started sorting through the mail. There were mostly bills, a couple of flyers, but one thick black envelope that felt like a book or catalog. It was addressed to Charlie Asher in care of Ashers Secondhand and had a postmark from Nights Plutonian Shore, which evidently was in whatsoever state started with a U. (Lily found geography not only mind-numbingly boring, but also, in the age of the Internet, irrelevant.)Was it not addressed to the care of Ashers Secondhand? Lily reasoned. And was she, Lily Darquewillow Elventhing, not manning the counter, the sole employee nay the de facto manager, of said secondhand store? And wasnt it her right nay her responsibility to open this envelope and spare Charlie the irritation of the task? Onward, Elventhing Your destiny is set, and if it be not destiny, then surely there is plausible deniability, which in the parla nce of politics is the same thing.She drew a jewel-encrusted dagger from under the counter (the stones valued at over seventy-three cents) and slit the envelope, pulled out the book, and neglect in love.The cover was shiny, like a childrens picture book, with a colorful illustration of a grinning skeleton with tiny people impaled on his fingertips, and all of them appeared to be having the time of their lives, as if they were enjoying a funfair ride that just happened to involve having a gaping hole being punched through the chest. It was festive divide of flowers and candy in primary colors, done in the style of Mexican folk art. The Great monumental Book of Death, was the title, spelled out across the top of the cover in cheerful, human femur font letters.Lily undefended the book to the first page, where a note was paper-clipped.This should explain everything. Im sorry. MFLily removed the note and opened the book to the first chapter So Now Youre Death Heres What Youll Nee d.And it was all she needed. This was, very possibly, the coolest book she had ever seen. And certainly not anything Charlie would be able to appreciate, especially in his current state of heightened neurosis. She slipped the book into her backpack, then tore the note and the envelope into tiny pieces and buried them at the bottom of the wastebasket.