I am nursing a headache with a screwdriver borne from past-expiry-date orange juice and vodka that doesn't seem dissimilar to lighter fluid. The room I'm in is too bright and sterile and linoleum-tiled to be anything good. It is a guest room with drawers full of clothes and- much to my chagrin- Valium, and firearms. There is a poster on the wall for some grindhouse flick called Eat Your Idols, wherein two guntoting lesbians brutally murder random travelers in between segments of hardcore pornography. I watched this film once, and aside from a particularly inspired torture scene involving heated pliers and testicular torsion, it was not memorable.

On the bed, me. With the headache and welt from a punch. It's more of a cot, generously termed a bed in the same way you generously term a dismemberment as a superficial laceration. On the foot of this military surplus cot is my sister, who I am desperately trying to avoid eye contact with.

Concussion, I rasp, looking down at the stain on the mattress- long dried, probably blood, hopefully not from where I imagine it to be.

"I'm sorry, Nack, I didn't quite catch that."

I almost say "go eat a bag of dicks you liferuining whore", but I stop myself, smile politely. "Nothing, sis. Hit my head pretty hard, 's all." Don't get mad. I was told once in an anger management class, try thinking up Haiku's on the fly.

A kangaroo can't

Jump backwards; so I'll flank the

Bastard and kill him.

Was it 5-7-5 or 7-5-7 with the syllables?

You never know what

You have until it's staring you

In the face, smiling.

"Occupational hazard, I'm sure." Nic chimes, which is bizarre.

Nic fucking hates me.

Or used to.

Or still does. "Don't take it too personally."

"You're lying if you said you didn't enjoy what happened to me, though."

"I'm lying, then. Really, just business. Honestly," she crosses her arms, face otherwise neutral, "you're one to talk 'bout this sort of thing."

"Sister?"

"Yes, Nack?"

She's holding and cleaning this old scuffed MG 42 gun. It's recoil-operated and can fire 1,000 rounds per minute, but it has a somewhat low range of effective fire. This is not too surprising considering that it's been around for so long.

When it comes to bullet rounds, I personally prefer the MP5-N. It's a submachine gun with a collapsible stock, a tritium-illuminated front sight post and a 225 mm threaded barrel that can use a sound suppressor- preferably stainless steel, holes drilled- and subsonic specialized ammunition. I prefer to use an ACOG sight, but they're increasingly hard to find, so there is nothing wrong with a basic red dot digital sight. I prefer this gun to the more modern UMP45 due to its higher rate of fire.

I believe, however, your best option is the MP7. Not only is it compact for a submachine gun, it has a gas-operated, short stroke piston, rotating bolt power that means it fires over 950 rounds per minute. Furthermore, it's better suited in dealing with body armour and the most recent MP7A1 can utilize a top-end red dot sight, which I'm partial to.

On the job, you learn these sorts of things.

"If you wanted me to join up with Sally Acorn and these guys, you know there are more enticing ways than ambushing me at a diner, right?"

Nic pauses sorting through her cartridges, as if considering the thought. "I s'pposse so," she concludes. "But that wouldn't have been as fun."

I didn't even get to sample St. Pierre's new tempura maki.

I haven't really eaten anything in the last 48 hours aside from a couple bars of toffee and a bottle of scotch.

And all that Valium, too. No way this shit is going on an empty stomach, I have to find something to eat. And a bottle of Xanax, because I'm done with Diazepam.

"I'm sorry, Nack, I didn't quite catch that."

For the first time, I look across at Nic and realize that if she weren't my sister, I would have shot her, or tried to sleep with her, or both, maybe at the same time.

There are actually much worse things that can happen aside from eternal damnation, if you believe in that stuff. Elder gods. Snuff films. Paedophilia. Murder. Nic the weasel. All of these things can kill you a lot quicker than Beezlebub's seventh sanctum ever could.

"Do we still hate each other?" I ask her.

"Depends, do you want to?"

I consider this preposition for an amount of time. I realize I can't truly call this hate, not in the same way those dead people do.

There's fear, but it's not the fear of a skier who's overshot their landing and are about to fall on their heads.

There's loathing, but it's not the loathing of a family of a murder victim who was strangled to death on his way home from a blood bank a day before his birthday.

There's apathy, desperation, veneration- you get the idea.

I wish I had a bullet big enough to kill the sun.

O, hate rain on me.

"Not really." I gulp more of the Molotov-cocktail-masquerading-as-screwdriver and wince as it goes down. Shit tastes like motor oil. I regret taking this drink in the first place. "Guess there's no real reason to, right?"

,
"Well, there was... Hey, remember Ray?"

I furrow my brow. "The faggot? I think he did a lot of heroin."

"No, brother, Ray the Flying Squirrel. Mighty's friend."

I barely have even heard of Mighty, but I shrug and nod. "But anyway, I guess we can put our differences beside us." I don't even know what I'm getting paid. "Let bygones be bygones."

She's sorting through 7.92 x 57mm Mauser cartridges. They're rimless bottleneck cartridges that can work with a belt-feed system, allowing for more prolonged firing than say a ShKAS Aircraft gun or an unwieldy Darne 8mm Lebel machine gun. I am partial to an M40A5 rifle, which is based on the Remington 700 bolt-action rifle. They take 7.62 x 51mm rounds. I lean towards utilizing a telescopic sight which really helps the rifle use its 1,000 meter effective range to the best of its ability. I think to myself, God, Nic, get with the times. Of course, some people still use bullet weapons for the sentimental reasons, whatever they may be. Perhaps it's more sincere to paint the walls red with a bullet rather than a laser? I've always preferred laser weapons- the Nogueira FSN20K is an exceptional rifle with an auto-chambering cartridge, built-in nitrogen-purged C79A6 optical sight and heated laser rounds, though these guns cost a pretty penny.

My job's not one that can be discussed easily over dinner.