I’m on the treatment table, I ask, “You going to use your magic glass rocks on me?”
“Not this time, I’m afraid. This is more of a hands-on procedure. I’m going to have to go in there and get those slugs out manually.”
I watch him dry his hands on a small towel covered with pictures of palm trees. The word Orlando is printed in bright red letters in one corner.
“A Kissi ran his hands around inside me. I didn’t like it.”
“This won’t be like that. For one thing, you won’t feel it. I have some special salve that’ll numb you up good.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Let’s just get started.”
He takes a stoppered bottle from the counter, opens it, and pours something thick, like Karo syrup, in a line down my chest. Then he takes a sponge-headed brush and paints the stuff across my body, from my neck down to my stomach.
He puts the brush back on the counter and says, “Tell me when that stuff gets warm.”
“I think it’s there already.”
“Close your eyes for a minute.”
I close them and he says, “Feel that?”
“No. Did you already put your hand in my chest?”
“Does it feel like I did?”
“No.”
“Good. Then you’re ready. Feel free to keep your eyes closed.”
“Are you going to wear gloves or something, at least?”
“Of course I’m wearing goddamn gloves. I’m not a goddamn Kissi.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
There’s a clank. Like metal on metal.
“What was that?”
“That’s bullet one.”
“That was easy.”
“See? We could have done this a long time ago and saved you some pain.”
“I’ll call you after my next shooting.”
“Or you could try not getting shot.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
He laughs a little.
“That’s why you and Candy get along. That’s what she’d say.”
Candy is the last thing I want to talk to Kinski about when he has his hands in my guts.
“What’s the going rate for magic surgery?”
Another piece of metal drops.
“It’s on the house.”
I don’t say anything for a minute.
“How the hell do you make a living? You never have any patients and you don’t charge me for surgery or for dragging my friends in here. What’s going on?”
“You’re tensing up. Relax. Every time you move, the bullets shift.”
“Okay.”
“And for your information, how I make a living is my business, not yours. As for why I don’t charge you, let me ask you a question. Have you ever asked yourself how you survived all those years in Hell? Do really think you lived with Hellions and survived the arena because you’re that much of a badass?”
“I don’t know. I used to think about it, but I could never find any reasons. And I was kind of busy getting my ass kicked, so I stopped worrying about it.”
“Well, you’re back and there aren’t any monsters chasing you right now. Tell me how it is that you, by yourself, managed to stay alive all those years.”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
“I don’t know. I’m nothing special.”
“You think so? You fell into the bottom of the cesspool of Creation, survived and crawled out again. Doesn’t that sound just a little special?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. A regular person, a civilian, wouldn’t have lasted a day down there, much less eleven years.”
Another piece of metal falls.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“Maybe it means you’re different. Maybe it means that you’re not who you think you are. Maybe it means you’re not entirely human.”
I open my eyes and look at him. No matter how hard I look and listen, I can’t read him. Can’t hear his heart or his breathing. Nothing.
“I don’t like where this is going, doc.”
“Another minute. We’re almost there.”
I close my eyes and try to calm my breathing. I didn’t like seeing his hands moving around under my skin.
“You haven’t answered the question. Are you human or not?”
“If I’m not human, what am I?”
“Same as me. An angel not quite fit for heaven or hell.”
Another piece of metal falls. The fifth bullet.
I feel Kinski lean back. Hear him walk to the sink and wash his hands.
He says, “You can put your shirt back on.”
I sit up on the table.
“What did you just say to me, man?”
He wipes his hands on a towel and says, “It’s going to be harder for you than it is for me. I made concious choices that got me here. Half the universe hated you before you were born.”
He moves slowly, choosing his words carefully. That much I can see. He’s not high or drunk and he doesn’t give off a Looney Tunes vibe. Still.
“Put your shirt on. Let’s go have a smoke.”
I follow him into the parking lot. The sun hurts my eyes after having them closed. I watch the doc, looking for any signs of obvious craziness. I could make a break for the Benz, but I’m a little woozy from the surgery.
Kinski is looking at me. He takes out a cigarette and offers me the pack. I take one.
“If
