Let the Dead Bury the Dead

David’s knuckles whitened around his steering wheel. The afternoon sun was burning his face, but he couldn’t do anything about it because the visors in his Civic coupe were small. Normally, the passing trees and buildings would continually blot it out, but David was stopped. Traffic backed up Figueroa from Exposition all the way to Adams. He had been crawling for fifteen blocks. David cursed the MTA for their poorly planned bus stops, which forced lumbering buses to block the right lane of traffic. Downtown Los Angeles was not supposed to be this busy at three in the afternoon.

His phone buzzed in his hand. A text message.

Hey gonna b late. Out celebrating new job. Should b home in 30. Just let urself in – Brendan.

His knuckles whitened more. He turned left on West 37th and left again on Broadway. He had to pay ten dollars to park three blocks from Brendan’s apartment. Downtown was unusually cold for April. The wind whipped through the narrow canyons of sky scrapers, creating a biting chill. David reached into the planter next to the front door of Brendan’s apartment building and pulled out a key secured to the wall with painter’s putty. He used it to let himself into the lobby. David hated Brendan’s apartment building. It clearly had not been renovated since the fifties. He tried not to be prejudiced against anyone, but the other tenants made him uncomfortable. They came from worlds very different than his and Brendan’s. Welfare. Food stamps. Thrift stores. It was difficult for David to understand.

He took the rickety elevator to the fourth floor; his knuckles white again around the hand rail inside. David walked down the hall to apartment 4F and found the door unlocked. The floor was wood and very dark. A small mattress lay in the far corner, it’s foot toward the wall the door was on. A T.V. sat facing it. Next to the mattress, a small dresser. The kitchen sink was full of dishes; they spilled onto the counter. A beat up recliner hugged the wall adjacent to the kitchen, an attempt to keep as much floor space as possible. David sat down in it and pulled out his phone to text Brendan.

I’m here – D

He set it down on the small side table beside the chair. There was a card for last year’s birthday from Mom and Dad sitting on it. David picked it up to read.

Happy 22nd Brennie!
Hope the money helps!
Love,
Mom and Dad

David set it down, turned on the T.V. and waited. Brendan threw open the door at 6:30. He stumbled around the room, throwing his keys and jacket on the floor before collapsing on his mattress.

“Sorry I’m late,” he slurred.

“No problem. You okay?”

“Ugh...Yeah,” Brendan replied, sitting up quickly.

His left eye was purple and swollen completely shut. David had never seen a black eye so serious before. It didn’t look real—like it was created with heavy make-up for a movie.

“What the hell—“

“It’s a long shtory,” Brendan spouted.

“Are you still good for dinner?”

“Oh—F—F—Fuck yeah.”

“Okay, well let’s get going. You can tell me the story on the way there.”

They left Brendan’s studio and walked the three blocks back to David’s Civic.

“Which way?” David asked.

“Up Fig. Left on Olympic. Are you excited for this?”

“Definitely.”

“No. Dave. I don’t think you understand. This is going to be the best food you’ve ever had. This is the best Korean bar-b-que in Los Angeles.”

“Sweet. So why are you drunk at four in the afternoon again? And why do you—”

“Okay, okay—Here’s the story,” Brendan began, “Have you ever seen the UFC?”

“I haven’t seen it, but I know what it is.”

“You know what it is, right?”

“Yeah, I just said—“

“Okay, well I was telling Scott, he’s the one who got me the job, I was telling Scott how the Ultimate Fighting Championship is going to bankrupt boxing in the next ten years. Put it out of business.”

“Okay.”

“So this asshole behind me shtarts getting all worked up about it. And he comes over and shtarts talking sh-shit to me and Scott. And I’m having none of it. None.”

“So you try to demonstrate your respective favored sports on each other.”

Brendan paused for a second.

“Something like that.”

They sat in silence the rest of the way to Korea Town.

“Turn right here,” Brendan directed suddenly as they approached a side street off of Olympic. On the corner was a restaurant, the name of which was in Korean.

“They have a valet, but it’s expensive. Let’s just hoof it,” Brendan suggested.

“Sounds good.”

David parked around the block and the two of them walked to the entrance of the restaurant. The interior was open and jungle-like. The ceiling and walls was actually a giant pitched tent. The hostess sat David and Brendan near a planter with a small waterfall. In the middle of their table was a grill.

“Harrow,” the server sputtered quietly. “Bev-ar-radge?”

“A bottle of hot sake and two large Hito’s,” Brendan requested quickly. “And some water.”

“Bottle sake. Two rarge Hito. Water. Okay!”

“No one speaks English hear,” Brendan tried to whisper to David.

On the table were small dishes of various sauces and shredded and stewed vegetables. Brendan took his chopsticks and ate some sprouts one sliver at a time until the server came back with their drinks.

“Ready for order?” the server asked.

“Yes,” Brendan began, “We’ll have the marinated steak. Mare-i-nate-ed pork. Mare-i-nate-ed chicken. And two white rice.”

The server stopped to check his pad and then repeated, “Uh—A mare-nate uhsteak. Uhbeef. Mare-nate chick’n. Uh—white rice.”

“No, no, no,” Brendan said, sounding impatient. “Mare-i-nate-ed steak, pork and chicken. All marinated. Pork, no beef.”

“Oh!” the server said, apparently understanding. “Oh-kay, oh-kay.”

“He’s gonna fuck it up,” Brendan told David as soon as the server walked away.

Brendan lifted the small steaming bottle of sake and poured a shot for himself and David. He then opened one of the bottles of beer and filled their small glasses half full.

“You ever done a sake bomb before?” Brendan asked.

“Nope.”

“Okay, you just pour the sake in the beer and gulp it down. It’s gonna be warm, so swallow it fast, or it’s gonna taste like shit. Ready?”

David nodded and lifted his small, porcelain shot glass.

“To new jobs,” Brendan announced.

David dumped his sake in the short beer glass and gulped down the warm mixture quickly, before the taste could really get to him. It wasn’t as strong as he was expecting. Brendan picked some more at the sprouts.

“So tell me about this new job,” David said, “It’s in a law office or something?”

“Well not exactly. I’m selling law service.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of like lawyer insurance.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s pretty awesome. Okay, so, everyone needs a lawyer at one time or another, right?”

“Um—I don’t—I suppose.”

“Well around here, a lot of people do. But—Most people can’t afford to keep a lawyer on retainer. So then they get stuck with some public defender or if they’re suing, they have to go higher some shyster. Pre-paid legal is like the 1-800-Dentist of the law world. The company screens all the lawyers, so you’re getting the best.”

“So you get a commission, or are you on salary—“

“It’s commission based, but it works so much better than a traditional commission.”

The waiter brought a massive platter of raw meat to their table and a smaller platter of raw chicken. The meat platter had what was obviously marinated steak, but it also had thin rolls of dry beef: the kind David had seen at a Mongolian bar-b-que before.

“I fucking knew he would fuck it up,” Brendan said as the waiter walked away. “He brought us the fucking brisket instead of the marinated pork.”

“Looks good to me,” David said.

“It’s not. The problem is, we can’t get more until we finish this. They make you pay extra for whatever you don’t eat. So we’ll just eat what we want and hide the rest under the salad,” Brendan explained, pointing to the large bowl of mixed greens on the table.

Brendan took his tongs and lifted a large helping of marinated steak on to the grill. David followed suit and put some chicken on with his tongs. The meat sizzled, and the tantalizing smell of the cooking marinade lifted in wonderful smoke and steam. David was suddenly starving. The waiter came back with two bowls of white rice and a bowl of rice paper.

“Let’s put some of this brisket on, so you can see how terrible it is,” Brendan said, setting some on the edge of the grill.

“So you were saying about the commission?”

“First, another toast.”

Brendan poured more sake into their shot glasses and filled David’s and his beer glass half full. Brendan raised his shot glass.

“You make the toast this time,” he said.

“Okay. To...To eating as much meat as we can.”

“An excellent toast.”

David watched as Brendan first shot the sake and chased it with his beer. David opted to take it the same as before.

“I’ve never done that before,” Brendan coughed, his whole body shuddering. “That was hot.”

David watched as Brendan stared at the steak and reached up to tenderly touch his swollen eye.

“I think this steak is about done,” Brendan said, “The brisket too. The chicken takes a little longer.”

David took his tongs and lifted a piece of steak and a piece of brisket onto his plate. He took his chopsticks, dipped the steak in a small dish of dark sauce and then set it in his rice. He attempted to scoop some rice up with the meat, but it wasn’t working, so he stuffed the steak in his mouth and shoveled in some rice after.

“Good?” Brendan asked.

“Mmmmhmm,” David replied, his mouth full.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, savoring each piece. David didn’t think the brisket wasn’t as bad as Brendan made it sound. It seemed to take on the flavor of which ever sauce it was dipped much better than the marinated steak. It was also easier to pick up with rice.

“So,” David began, “Finish telling me about the commission.”

“Oh right,” Brendan said, swallowing a piece of chicken. “Well, I bought into this thing under Scott, who bought in under some one else, who bought in, and so forth. Every time I sell a service, Scott gets a small commission and the guy above him gets a small commission and so forth. Now, Scott has three people under him, including me. The guy above him has God knows how many. I mean—when you think about all the people he signed up who then signed up more people—he must be making a fortune just in other people selling. He probably doesn’t even need to sell!”

“So it’s another pyramid scheme?” David asked.

Brendan’s face quickly contorted into a frown.

“No. It is not a pyramid scheme. It’s not even like multi-level marketing. I mean not completely.”

“How?”

“Because, the service I’m providing is something that people actually want. Who wouldn’t want a prepaid legal service at their disposal? It’s not like I’m peddling shit out of some catalog. It’s not at all like when I was doing Quasar or Two-by-Two. Totally different.”

David just nodded. They sat in silence again, cooking and chewing quietly. The pile of brisket was slowly diminishing.

“We need that pork,” Brendan said.

He took his tongs and put the rest of the brisket on the grill.

“You see what we do is cook this until it’s just charcoal,” he explained, “Then we hide it under this salad.”

“Brendan, we can just pay for it. I don’t care.”

“No! I’m tired of these fucking Nips ripping me off for getting my order wrong. We’re hiding it.”

“That wasn’t even the right racial slur. And I don’t understand why we didn’t just send it back,” David said.

“Because they would’ve charged us for it anyway—Just—Trust me.”

More silence. The restaurant was slowly becoming noisier and busier with the dinner rush. Smoke rose for nearly every table, and the smell was no longer appetizing.

“So what’s new with you, Davey?” Brendan said finally.

“Well, not much. Just getting ready for school in the fall.”

“Oh right, right. English, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And after that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Teach. Get a PhD.”

“In?”

“English probably.”

“You know what you should get a PhD in? Economics. Those guys are fucking millionaires. They do consulting and shit for politicians. Forecasting the economy and shit.”

“Yeah, well I don’t have a degree in economics.”

“Fuck, Dave. It was just a suggestion. So a Master’s in English, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Sounds like a lot of bullshit to me.”

“It sounds like that to a lot of people.”

“I’m telling you, dude: Economics.”

Brendan turned the brisket over and over until it was black char. He grabbed David’s tongs, and while holding the lettuce in the salad bowl back, he put the steaming gristle into the bowl, and placed the lettuce back on top. David could no longer see the burned brisket. Brendan threw the rest of the steak and chicken on the grill and motioned for the waiter.

“Yes?”

“Yeah, we’d like some more of the marinated steak, and the marinated pork.”

“Steak and pork?”

“You got it.”

The waiter nodded and walked off.

“Another toast,” Brendan announced, refilling all the glasses. “To graduate degrees and economics!”

“Here, here!”

Each shot following the first went down easier. The waiter came back quickly with a smaller plate of steak and pork. Brendan took it right from his hands and dumped the whole thing on the grill.

“I’m sssstarving,” he said.

“Maybe we’d better take it easy on the sake,” David suggested.

“Phbbtt, no. Let’s do another!”

Brendan tipped the sake bottle, but nothing came out.

“Aw, shit.”

“That’s okay, let’s just—“

He motioned for the waiter again.

“Another hot sake, please.”

“One more sake!” the waiter said with enthusiasm.

Brendan smiled at David.

“I don’t know how many more I should do,” David said, “I still gotta drive home.”

“Nah, you’ll be fine. C’mon Davey, it’s not everyday I get an amazing job.”

“Have you told Dad about this amazing job?”

Brendan’s demeanor changed instantaneously again. He looked embarrassed.

“I told him.”

“And?”

“He said exactly what you did.”

“Bren, I didn’t mean—“

“Don’t fuckin’ worry about it, alright? What the fuck does Dad know anyway. Mom was happy for me.”

“Bren, so am I. So is Dad. I was just asking questions. Everyone wants to see you successful. But I do want to know one more thing.”

“What?”

“How much did you have to give Scott to start up?”

“Four fifty. But he loaned me half. He said I’ll make it back in a flash. I just have to sell two policies.”

Brendan paused for a moment and looked David over with his uninjured eye. David knew what was coming.

“Dave—I know you’re all into this teaching thing, but I got to ask you—I mean this is a tremendous opportunity—It’s totally different from all those other things—Those were get-rich-quick schemes—This is—“

“Bren. No—I—Look.”

David looked at Brendan. His face was hopeful, even through the brutality of his injured eye.

“It sounds great, but—It’s just not for me.”

Brendan smiled again.

“I understand, buddy. It’s not for everyone.”

The waiter brought another steaming bottle of sake. Brendan refilled their glasses quickly.

“Oh—Can we have the check?” Brendan asked as the waiter walked away. He turned and nodded.

“Your turn to make the toast.”

David thought for a moment. His heart was becoming heavier with each tip of the glass.

“Here’s to—Here’s to not listening to a goddamn thing Dad says.”

“Fuck yeah.”

David slammed his glass down and picked up his tongs to get more meat.

“You can use the rice paper to make a little soft taco thing,” Brendan instructed.

David gave it a try. The rice paper was slimy, slightly rubbery and cold because it had been sitting untouched all night. But it, like the rice and the brisket, took on the flavor of whatever sauce he dipped it in, which made it good. The waiter brought the check. Sixteen dollars a person, plus twenty dollars for the two bottles of sake, plus fourteen dollars for the two large bottles of beer. David pulled out his credit card.

“I’ll have to take you out when you get your first real teaching job,” Brendan said.

“Sounds good.”

They took their time finishing off the last of the meat. David savored every bite. He realized Brendan was correct in saying that it would be the best food he’d ever had. He felt like it really was. Brendan rubbed his belly after swallowing his last piece of pork.

“Another shot?”

“Last one,” David said.

“You got it.”

Brendan once again filled their glasses.

“Whose turn to toast?” he asked.

“I believe it’s yours.”

“Okay. Here’s. Here’s to gettin’ after it.”

David smiled at Brendan and swallowed his last shot. Brendan immediately poured himself another shot, this time a double of sake in his beer glass. David watched as he let all of it slide down his throat.

“One more of those should do it,” Brendan wheezed.

He poured, drank and slammed both sake bottle and glass on the table at the same time. The party at the table next to them jumped at the sound.

“Okay, I think you’ve had more than enough today.”

“Can’t let the beer go to waste,” Brendan said.

He grabbed the last bottle of Hito, which only had two glasses worth left and shotgunned it. David reached out and grabbed the bottle, stopping him from slamming it down. David met Brendan’s one good eye. It was angry, but quickly calmed.

“I have to,” Brendan pleaded.

David released the bottle, allowing Brendan to slam it down on the table. The bottom shattered. The people at the next table jumped again and gasped. Brendan took no notice of anything.

“You ready?” he asked.

David nodded solemnly and they stood. Blood rushed to his extremities, making them feel not his own. He tried to steady himself as best as he could so as not to look like he was about to drive drunk through Downtown Los Angeles.

“You alright to drive there, champ?” Brendan teased.

“You’re definitely not.”

“I so could.”

“That’s okay. I think I’ll take my chances. I bet you’ll be seeing all that Korean bar-b-que later tonight.”

“Wanna make a bet?”

“Sure. Ten bucks.”

“Okay, make sure you text me later tonight. I won’t lie.”

They walked around the corner to David’s car and got in. The drive back to Brendan’s apartment was slow and quiet. All at once Brendan took a deep breath and spoke.

“I had a dream last night, Davey.”

“That’s nice.”

“It really was actually. I dreamed that you and I were some place. Like a family gathering or something. I can’t remember if Mom and Dad were there—It doesn’t matter. We were both there. And it was like ten years from now—or—sometime in the future.”

Brendan sat quiet for a moment, but David knew he wasn’t finished. The neon lights of Downtown flashed across his face.

“The thing that made it really nice,” Brendan continued, “was that we were both really successful. And really happy. But like—We had taken two completely different paths to get there. But everyone was so proud of us. I guess we must have been at a family thing or something. But—yeah. We had both attained just—just so much success. I really think that’s going to happen someday, don’t you?”

David pulled up in front of Brendan’s apartment building. Brendan opened the door to get out.

“Bren. I do think that will happen someday. Take care of that eye, all right?”

Brendan smiled and said, “Will do. See ya around.”

David watched as his younger brother walked up the stairs and into the lobby. It was nearly ten. He had to be up early for work. Thankfully the traffic in Downtown was much lighter than earlier that afternoon. David focused intensely on the road ahead of him.