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It
was
a
mystery
novel
about
an
American
detective
who
is
supposed
to
be
some
sort
of
expert
on
the
Orient
.
I
had
my
index
finger
wedged
into
a
scene
where
all
the
key
players
meet
for
dinner
at
a
Japanese
restaurant
in
New
York
.
The
detective
’
s
client
,
an
Italian
,
tries
to
order
an
espresso
after
their
meal
,
but
the
detective
stops
him
cold
.
He
starts
on
about
how
at
Japanese
restaurants
,
they
bring
you
green
tea
after
dinner
,
so
you
don
’
t
have
to
order
anything
.
Then
he
veers
off
on
how
green
tea
goes
great
with
soy
sauce
,
and
oh
,
why
is
it
that
in
India
they
spice
their
milk
tea
?
He
’
s
finally
gathered
everyone
involved
in
the
case
in
one
place
,
and
he
talks
a
blue
streak
about
everything
but
whodunit
.
I
rubbed
my
eyes
.
Passing
my
hand
over
my
shirt
I
felt
my
stomach
through
the
cloth
.
I
could
make
out
a
newly
formed
six
-
pack
that
hadn
’
t
been
there
half
a
year
back
.
No
trace
of
any
wound
,
no
charred
flesh
.
My
right
arm
was
right
where
it
should
be
.
Good
news
all
around
.
What
a
crappy
dream
.
I
must
have
fallen
asleep
reading
the
book
.
I
should
have
known
something
was
up
when
Mad
Wargarita
started
striking
up
small
talk
about
mystery
novels
.
American
Special
Operators
who
’
d
crossed
the
entire
Pacific
Ocean
just
for
a
taste
of
blood
didn
’
t
have
time
to
read
the
latest
best
seller
.
If
they
had
spare
time
,
they
’
d
probably
spend
it
tweaking
their
Jackets
.
What
a
way
to
start
the
day
.
Today
was
going
to
be
my
first
real
taste
of
battle
.
Why
couldn
’
t
I
have
dreamed
about
blasting
away
a
few
baddies
,
getting
promoted
a
grade
or
two
?
On
the
bunk
above
me
a
radio
with
its
bass
blown
out
was
squawking
music
-
some
kind
of
prehistoric
rock
so
ancient
my
old
man
wouldn
’
t
have
recognized
it
.
I
could
hear
the
sounds
of
the
base
stirring
to
life
,
incoherent
chatter
coming
from
every
direction
,
and
above
it
all
,
the
DJ
’
s
over
-
caffeinated
voice
chirping
away
with
the
weather
forecast
.
I
could
feel
every
word
pierce
my
skull
.
Clear
and
sunny
out
here
on
the
islands
,
same
as
yesterday
,
with
a
UV
warning
for
the
afternoon
.
Watch
out
for
those
sunburns
!
The
barracks
weren
’
t
much
more
than
four
sheets
of
fire
-
resistant
wood
propped
up
together
.
A
poster
of
a
bronze
-
skinned
bikini
babe
hung
on
one
of
the
walls
.
Someone
had
replaced
her
head
with
a
shot
of
the
prime
minister
torn
from
the
base
newspaper
.
The
bikini
babe
’
s
head
grinned
vapidly
from
its
new
home
atop
a
macho
muscle
builder
on
another
nearby
poster
.
The
muscle
builder
’
s
head
was
MIA
.
I
stretched
in
my
bunk
.
The
welded
aluminum
frame
squealed
in
protest
.
"
Keiji
,
sign
this
.
"
Yonabaru
craned
his
neck
over
the
side
of
the
top
bunk
.
He
looked
great
for
a
guy
I
’
d
just
seen
get
impaled
.
They
say
people
who
die
in
dreams
are
supposed
to
live
forever
.
