Before I do anything I go to this guy and he tells me what to do. He wears a black suit and works out of the apartment next door. If I get a call about a job I just walk over there. How much should I charge? I’ll ask him.

My wife is propped up on some pillows and wants to know why I’m nervous about her going through my accounts. I take the trash down the hall to the incinerator and on the way back I stop in to get an answer from this guy.

He sits me down on a molded Eames chair and puffs away at a cigar. He paces the room as I quickly fill him in on the details. Put your hand on her arm like this and tell her, ‘I have no secrets from you.’
 
In a minute I’m back in there quoting word for word. And in twelve minutes my wife and I are making love.

If I’m buying a new car I go to this guy. Even for something as simple as, Do I floss my teeth? he’s got the answer. I’ve been partway through a meal, about to order seconds and I step out to get “a breath of fresh air.” He tells me, Yes, have seconds. Remember, you skipped lunch.

Many an hour I’ve spent sitting on that Eames chair, breathing the cigar fumes, and getting detailed stock advice or a list of clothing brands to wear. It actually saves me a lot of time, believe it or not.

Yesterday I was over there, clouds of smoke, sitting on the chair in his empty room as he walked circles around me. In his raspy, smoker’s voice he laid out a gameplan for the rest of the afternoon.

He has me doing weird stuff this week, I’ll admit. I make it a point of not judging his directives but to be quite honest why am I buying all these weapons? Why do I have to hide them from my wife? The good thing is that I don’t have to know why. It always works out in the end. Do you know what a shuriken is? He asked me. I didn’t. It’s a throwing star. Go to Little Tokyo and come back with twelve of these. Keep them in the brown paper bag. Tape the bag to the bottom of the shelf on the right under the sink.

Later that day I was back asking my usual questions about floss and brushing teeth. He told me to take a shower (I never take showers at night) and then dress in my winter coat.

So I’m standing outside this warehouse at midnight in my winter coat, pockets weighted down with instruments of war from feudal Japan, wondering when someone’s going to come around and tell me what to do. Because it’s getting cold out here and frankly, I’m getting a little nervous.

Denise slid all the way down the chute and landed on a metal slab. Mechanical humming. A faint whistle. The whole desert smelled like burning. Just then Jason popped his head out of his tank hatch. We’ve got company, he said.

Denise shifted and sat up. The metal was cold on her naked body. She could just barely see the shape of Jason’s tank as it crested the hill but his silhouette was recognizable: the big round head and telltale methy twitches. Hey, she’s over there! The turret swung around clumsily. Denise reached her hand out toward the tank as it bumbled down the hillside. Her fingers vibrated, causing distant molecules to shift and displace themselves. The metal of the tank went from a cold army green to a smoldering orange in seconds. The soldiers screamed but Jason managed to jump clear with only second degree burns. He opened fire at her with his sub-machine gun but the bullets just went plink plink plink, bouncing off her white flesh.

As the tank twisted and melted away into the sand she moved towards Jason. The hot tank metal caught some brush on fire and soon there was a small blaze going, back-lighting Denise’s crazy hair and her bare shoulders. Jason continued to fire at her until all his ammo was spent. He threw some knives and then rocks, sticks, his canteen. Then he leapt at her, encircling her neck with his big soldier fingers.

When she was through with him he was a pile of black dust. She just kept going, listening as the other tanks circled the crater and men on radios shouted orders back and forth. This will be interesting, she said, and the flames rose and spiraled around her. I’m glad I came back.

Lara glared at me from her side of the hot bench seat. Popped open the glove box to see a .357 in there. Carefully lifted it out and pointed it at me. Are you scared? Laughed. Without turning my head I reached over and aimed the gun away. That’s loaded.

She pointed it at the windshield and pulled the trigger. The glass exploded all over us and I careened to a stop on the shoulder of the interstate. There were little pieces of glass all over both of us and all over the seats. I could feel glass dust and chips on my tongue. Whoops, she said. I thought you were kidding. You’re always kidding.

I went to grab the gun out of her hand but couldn’t pry open her fingers. What would you do if I shot myself right now? she asked. I’ve dreamt my own death a thousand times.

How does it end? Like this?

No. Like this. She grinned and squeezed the trigger. Freezing cold emanated from where the bullet tore through my chest. Then another deafening blast and I saw her fall back.

I slumped over the wheel, focusing my willpower on getting my hand up to the ignition. When I finally touched the metal of the key it took everything I had to twist it. Now blood was tickling down my ankle into my shoe. I hit the gas and we spun out, traffic screeching every which way. I swung the wheel back and sent us down into a ravine.

Two weeks later I woke up in a bed soaked in blood. Instantly fell in love with my nurse: ebony skin, kind smile. She spooned water into my mouth until I fell back into a deep sleep. I floated for a long time in a purple, swirling abyss as one thought after another appeared and then sunk away. Scrambled eggs with fresh ground pepper. Lara, cool smile, hair in her eyes. Spiders. Toby, counting bullets. My military fatigues on a hanger.

I rolled over and lost consciousness on sheets that felt like cardboard. My nurse was gone and the cold wind launched me back into darkness.