I pointed at him.

– Im more than willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and say that youre the asshole.

He looked at Soledad.

– So, yeah, hes the asshole then?

She twisted her hand free and went into the bathroom.

– Hes the guy I told you about.

She closed the door behind her.

He looked at me.

– Yeah, youre the asshole alright.

I held up a hand.

– Hey look, if youre gonna insist, I can only accept the title. But seriously, dont sell yourself short. You got the asshole thing locked up if you want it.

He came down the room in a loose strut I imagine had been meticulously assembled from endless repeat viewings of Tom Cruises greatest hits.

– Yeah, I can tell by the way youre talking. Youre the one fucked with her today. Made jokes about her dad killing himself. Youre the asshole alright.

The toilet flushed, Soledad yelled over it.

– He didnt make jokes!

The dude looked at the closed door.

– You said he made jokes.

He looked at me.

– Asshole. Fucking go in someones home, theres been a tragedy, go in and try to make money off that. Fucking vulture. Fucking ghoul. Who does that, who comes up with that for a job? That your dream job, man? Cleaning up dead people? Other kids were hoping to grow up to be movie stars and you were having fantasies about scooping peoples guts off the floor?

I shifted, crushing a few more almonds.

– Truth is, mostly I had fantasies about doing your mom.

He slipped a lozenge of perforated steel from his back pocket, flicked his wrist and thumb in an elaborate show of coordination, and displayed the open butterfly knife resting on his palm.

– Say what, asshole?