A Dirty Job Chapter 8

8 A STREETCAR NAMED CONFUSION Into the breech of the Castro region Charlie Asher charged, an antique blade stick from the store on the van seat adjacent to him, his jaw set like a knife, his appearance an examination in fearsome force. A large portion of a square, a large portion of a square, half of a square ahead †into the Valley of Overpriced Juice Bars and Outlandish Hair Highlights †rode the honorable Beta Male. Also, burden be unto the absurd ne'er-do-well who had set out to fuck with this used passing seller, for his raggedy life would be quick for the deal table. There will be a standoff in Gay Town, Charlie thought, and I am gunning for equity. All things considered, not so much gunning †since he had a blade covered in a mobile stick, not a firearm †to a greater extent a jabbing for equity †which didn't generally have the avenging holy messenger meaning he was searching for †he was distraught, and prepared to kick ass, that's it in a nutshell. Along these lines, you know, simply keep an eye out. (Incidentally, Poking for Justice was the title at present second in fame at Castro Video Rentals, intently beating A Star Is Born: The Director's Cut, and outranked uniquely by Cops Without Pants, which was number one with a bullwhip.) Charlie killed Market Street and practically around the bend on Noe Street he saw it: Fresh Music, the sign done in blocky, Craftsman-style recolored glass, and he felt the hair at the rear of his neck bristle and a criticalness in his bladder. His body had gone into battle or-flight mode, and for the second time in seven days, he was conflicting with his Beta Male nature and deciding to battle. All things considered, so be it, he thought. So be it. He would defy his tormentor and lay him low, when he found a stopping place †which he didn't. He surrounded the square, cutting among cafs and bars, the two of which were in plenitude in the Castro. He drove here and there the side boulevards, fixed with lines of perfectly kept (extravagantly valued) Victorians and found no quarter for his trusty horse. Following a half hour of circling the area, he headed back uptown and found a spot in a parking structure in the Fillmore, at that point brought the antique trolley down Market Street to the Castro. An adorable minimal green, Italian-made old fashioned trolley, with oak seats, metal railings, and mahogany window outlines †a beguiling metal chime and a top speed of around twenty miles for every hour: this is the manner by which Charlie Asher dashed into fight. He attempted to envision a crowd of Huns hanging off the sides, waving mischievous cutting edges and terminating bolts as they passed the wall paintings in the Mission locale, maybe Viking plunderers, shields affixed to the sides of the vehicle, an incredible drum be ating as they paddled in to loot the old fashioned shops, the cowhide bars, the sushi bars, the calfskin sushi bars (don't ask), and the workmanship exhibitions, in the Castro. Furthermore, here, even Charlie's considerable creative mind bombed him. He got off the vehicle at Castro and Market and strolled back a square to Fresh Music, at that point stopped outside the shop, considering what in the hellfire he would do now. Consider the possibility that the guest had recently obtained the telephone. Consider the possibility that he raged in shouting and undermining, and there was only some befuddled child behind the counter. In any case, at that point he glanced in the entryway, and there, remaining behind the counter, in solitude, was a remarkably tall dark man dressed totally in mint green, and by then Charlie lost his brain. â€Å"You murdered her,† Charlie shouted as he raged by the racks of CDs toward the man in mint. He drew the blade as he ran, or attempted to, wanting to bring it out in a solitary smooth motion from the stick sheath and over the throat of Rachel's executioner. However, the blade stick had been in the rear of Charlie's shop for quite a while, and aside from multiple times when Lily's companion Abby attempted to leave with it (when attempting to get it, when Charlie would not offer it to her, at that point twice attempting to take it), the blade hadn't been attracted years. The little metal stud that you pushed to discharge the sharp edge had stuck, so when Charlie conveyed the final knockout, he swung the whole stick, which was heavier †and more slow †than the blade would have been. The man in mint green †brisk for his size †dodged, and Charlie took out a whole line of Judy Garland CDs, lost his equalization, bobbed off the counter, spun around, and again w ent after for the single draw-and-cut move that he had seen so often in samurai motion pictures, and had drilled so often in his mind in transit here. This opportunity the blade came liberated from the casing and cut a fatal curve three feet before the man in mint, totally beheading a real existence measured pattern of Barbra Streisand. â€Å"That is un-unfucking called for!† roared the tall man. As Charlie recouped his parity for a strike slice, he saw something huge and dull descending over him and remembered it at the last moment, as the antique sales register slammed down on his head. There was a glimmer, a ding, and everything got dim and gooey. When Charlie came to, he was attached to a seat in the back room of the record store, which looked strikingly like the back room of his own store, aside from all the stacked boxes were brimming with records and CDs rather than all assortment of utilized jetsam. The tall dark man was remaining over him, and Charlie thought from the outset that he may be going to fog or smoke, however then he understood it was only that his vision was going wavy, and afterward torment lit up within his head like a strobe light. â€Å"Ouch.† â€Å"How's your neck?† asked the tall man. â€Å"Does your neck feel broken? Would you be able to feel your feet?† â€Å"Go ahead, execute me, you screwing coward,† said Charlie, kicking around in the seat, attempting to lurch at his captor and feeling similar to the Black Knight in Monty Python's Holy Grail after his arms and legs had been hacked off. In the event that this person made one stride nearer, Charlie could head-butt him in the nads, he made certain of it. The tall man trampled Charlie's toes, a size-eighteen glove-cowhide loafer driven by 200 and seventy pounds of death and utilized record vendor. â€Å"Ouch!† Charlie bounced his seat in a little hover of agony. â€Å"Goddammit! Ouch!† â€Å"So you do have feeling in your feet?† â€Å"Get it over with. Go ahead.† Charlie extended his neck as though offering his throat to be cut †his methodology was to bait his captor into run, at that point cut off the tall man's femoral corridor with his teeth, at that point brag as the blood flowed all over his mint-green pants onto the floor. Charlie would snicker long and vile as he viewed the existence channel out of the malevolent charlatan, at that point he would bounce his seat out to the road and onto the trolley at Market, move to the number forty-one transport at Van Ness, jump off at Columbus, and jump the two squares home, where somebody would unfasten him. He had an arrangement †and a transport go with four additional days left on it †so this bastard had picked an inappropriate person to fuck with. â€Å"I have no aim of slaughtering you, Charlie,† said the tall man, keeping a protected separation. â€Å"I'm sorry I needed to hit you with the register. You didn't generally leave me any options.† â€Å"You could have tasted the lethal sting of my blade!† Charlie looked around for his sword stick, just on the off chance that the person included left it inside reach. â€Å"Yeah, sure, there was that one, however I thought I'd go with the one without the stains and the funeral.† Charlie stressed against his bonds, which he understood currently were plastic shopping packs. â€Å"You're playing with Death, you know? I am Death.† â€Å"Yeah, I know.† â€Å"You do?† â€Å"Sure.† The tall man spun another wooden seat around and sat on it switched, confronting Charlie. His knees were up at the degree of his elbows and he seemed as though an incredible green tree frog, hunkered to jump on a creepy crawly. Charlie saw just because that he had brilliant eyes, unmistakable and striking as opposed to his brown complexion. â€Å"So am I,† said the detestable mint-green frog fellow. â€Å"You? You're Death?† â€Å"A Death, not THE Death. I don't think there is a THE Death. Not any longer, anyway.† Charlie couldn't get a handle on it, so he battled and wobbled until the tall man needed to connect and consistent him to shield him from toppling over. â€Å"You slaughtered Rachel.† â€Å"I did not.† â€Å"I saw you there.† â€Å"Yes, you did. That is an issue. If you don't mind, kindly quit whipping around?† He shook Charlie's seat. â€Å"But I wasn't instrumental in Rachel's passing. That is not what we do, not any longer, in any case. Didn't you at any point take a gander at the book?† â€Å"What book? You said something regarding a book on the phone.† â€Å"The Great Big Book of Death. I sent it to your shop. I told a lady at the counter that I was sending it, and I got conveyance affirmation, so I realize it got there.† â€Å"What lady †Lily? She's not a lady, she's a kid.† â€Å"No, this was a lady about your age, with New Wave hair.† â€Å"Jane? No. She didn't utter a word, and I didn't get any book.† â€Å"Oh, poop. That clarifies why they've been appearing. You didn't even know.† â€Å"Who? What? They?† Mint Green Death murmured vigorously. â€Å"I surmise we will be here for a little while. I'm going to make some espresso. Do you need some?† â€Å"Sure, attempt to calm me into an incorrect feeling that all is well with the world, at that point spring.† â€Å"You're tied the fuck up, mother lover, I don't have to hush you into crap. You've been screwing with the texture of human presence and somebody expected to close your rear end down.† â€Å"Oh, sure, go dark on me. Play the ethnic card.† Mint Green moved to his feet and made a beeline for the entryway to the shop. â€Å"You need cream?† â€Å"And two sugars, please,† Charlie said. This is truly cool, for what reason are you giving it back?† said Abby Normal. Abby was Lily's be