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to me.
    —A man should be able to retain his composure.
    I looked at the shit 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 shit.
    I watched him go inside. I massaged my finger and rotated my wrist and swung my arm around, making sure it all worked. Then I started. Putting more shit in the bin.
    He was right about lunch.
    What with the smell of well-marinated crap in our hair and on our clothes and up our noses and down our throats, lunch didn't have muchappeal for me. Not so, for the more experienced hands. I watched Po Sin tear into his third cheeseburger, and Gabe scrape 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 shit.
    —So you're saying I shouldn't be disturbed by the fact that having my nasal passages smelling like dung ruins my appetite? 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 ass butter. What a load off, knowing that I'm not alone and everyone has their own problems.
    Po Sin wiped his mouth.
    —Thought that'd make you feel better.
    I dropped the fry and pushed the unfinished bulk of my meal to the middle of the table.
    —So what bothers you?
    Po Sin grabbed some of my fries and shoved them in his mouth.
    —Me? Nothing.
    Gabe rubbed his nose.
    —Nothing but kids.
    Po Sin looked at me.
    —Kids are hard. No one likes kids.
    I looked away from Po Sin, watched some teenagers at the Fatburger counter shove each other around, laughing, and chose to ignore whatever the fuck point he was trying to make.
    —I like kids. Kids are OK.
    Gabe drained the last of his ice tea.
    —Dead kids. No one likes dead kids.
    Po Sin threw me another look, I refused to catch it, and he ate another fry.
    —On a trauma job. When it's a kid. That's rough.
    Gabe leaned back, the table warped in the lenses of the sunglasses he hadn't taken off since coming out of the hotel.
    —Doesn't really count anyway. Kids bother everyone. None of the other stuff bothers you.
    Po Sin shrugged.
    —Do the job long enough, you see it all.
    He dipped his head at Gabe.
    —Gabe can't stand the smell of mold.
    —Mildew.
    —Right, mildew. Water damage. Doesn't like it.
    I looked at Gabe.
    —Mildew?
    He didn't look at me.
    —Yeah.
    —Rancid mounds of feces are cool, but mildew freaks you out.
    He scratched a scar that ran down the top of his left forearm.
    —I don't like it much. That's all.
    Po Sin's phone rang. He looked at it and answered.
    —Clean Team. Uh-huh.
    He felt his back pocket, found a notepad, and reached behind his ear for his stub of pencil.
    —Sorry to hear that. Uh-huh. I'm sorry. Yes. Yes we do. Uh-huh. Well, we're on a job right now, but we could be there tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Uh-huh. I'm sorry to hear that. Yes it is. Yes it is. I'll. Yes. Well, I'd like to ask a few questions if I may. Well, it gives us an idea of what's involved. How many of us might be needed and such. Uh-huh. Well, most important is, have the police and the coroner released the scene? Good. OK. And can you tell me what room it happened in?
    I watched him write
bedroom
on the notepad.
    —Sure. And if I may, can I ask how? Right. I know.
    Gunshot.
    —And if I may, the type of weapon?
    Handgun.
    —Do you happen to know the caliber of the weapon?
    9mm.
    —I know. I know.
    He took the phone from his ear and rolled his neck around. I could hear crying, cut off as he put it back at his ear.
    —Can you tell me if any doors or windows were open? Can you tell me how many?
    2 doors.
    —Uh-huh. No. Well, it's pretty much impossible to give an estimate on the phone. Sure. What we'll do is, we'll come