CHANGELING

Rock finds it remarkable that the local headquarters of the Triad has traditional Cantonese music playing in its elevators. The cheery tones of the instruments clash with his assessment of the situation. Chang knows about his involvement with the Rip-off Church and is no doubt calling this meeting to deal with that problem. Revy tries to fill the awkward atmosphere with her own chatting. She needs to discern Chang's mood before deciding what kind of trouble they were in.

"I heard the new guy at Nuevo Laredo is making the rounds," she says. "Did he come by your place?"

Chang grins, cigarette askew in his mouth. "Angel? He sure did visit," he says. "Knocked on my door, said please and thank you, even bowed before he shook my hand. He didn't seem to know much English, though, so that was it. Quite the odd duck."

"See, Rock," she says. "I'm not the only one who thinks Angel is fuckin' weird."

"Actually, I think I rather like him," Chang says, but he is looking at Rock. "He doesn't seem like the type to sneak around behind my back and cause trouble for me."

Revy picks up on the hostility. Mister Chang has kept an eye on Rock ever since he tried to pull the curtain back on the city. The attempt had failed, but Rock's intentions had been made clear and he could never go without suspicion again. The threat of surveillance and a broken rib had been enough to stop him from trying another gamble quite as big in the years after.

Rock tries to calculate the odds that he will make the return journey on the elevator while the gaohu ensemble plays on through the speakers. He runs out of time when the elevator chime dings and the music stops. Mr. Chang's attitude is as unreadable as ever, hidden behind a mask of ease.

He keeps his guards outside the thick wooden doors of his office and directs his guests to sit among his furniture instead of directly in front of his desk. Rock thinks the lack of formality is a good sign. Then he sees Chang pull something out of his jacket.

Revy relaxes when she sees that it's a cell phone, but Rock feels his mouth go dry. Chang hits the 'redial' button on the phone and tosses it to Rock. It only rings once before the line is answered. However, no voice speaks out of it.

"Say hello," Chang tells Rock. Revy looks at the cell and then at Mr. Chang. She can tell this is no ordinary phone call.

"Hello?" Rock says. There is a single beep in his ear and then he hears a person speak.

The voice sounds distorted, and its pitch has been altered to be lower, enough that the caller cannot be readily identified. But the confidence it projects is familiar.

"I was expecting your call, Mister Okajima. Are you alone right now?"

Rock's eyes flit to Chang, who in turn appraises him. Revy is close enough to hear the inhuman tones from his phone.

"No, I am not alone," Rock says. "Who is this?"

He needs to act like he does not have the slightest idea of who might be calling. Chang is watching every action.

"You are hearing the voice of God."

Rock knows who it is now. "God? What do you mean?"

"Your prayers have been answered and God has brought you one rung up the ladder. You're my cutout now. A new line of communication to the Triad."

And like that, his goal has been achieved. But Rock knows that he is paying a steep cost. He is now in the risky position of intermediary, the disposable go-between that will get cut loose when trouble comes.

"What do you need?" Rock asks.

"For now, you serve at Chang's convenience whenever I do not need you to relay information. Expect a call in December. That's it for now. Pass the phone to the boss."

Rock hands the cellphone off. Chang listens to the voice impassively for a few moments. Then Revy gets a turn to listen, too. She does not like what she hears. She keeps herself from saying anything in response, even as her face twists with anger. The mysterious caller must know how to push her buttons.

When the line finally goes dead, Revy sets the phone down on the table and looks at it glumly for a half second.

"Uh, Mister Chang," Revy says. "I wanna shoot this fucking thing."

"That is understandable," he says. "But please, allow me."

Revy steps back and Chang brings the heel of his shoe down on the phone. Rock winces as the expensive piece of technology shatters into bits.

"One can get a long way in life by treating certain things as disposable," he says, brushing plastic off of his pants leg. "Better to leave no traces."

"How long have you been working for the spooks?' Revy asks. "That's a pretty big phone budget."

"I don't work for them." Chang looks at Revy with a warning in his face. "They work with the Triad, and sometimes that means I get involved. There are limits for what God can demand of me, unlike your fellow here."

They look at Rock, who is feeling the pressure of his position mix with relief that his life is not in immediate peril.

"I just found out he was going around today," Revy says. "I would have stopped him-"

Chang waves a hand. "Forget about it. I saw this coming. Sometimes you have to let the worst-case scenario happen, just to get it over with."

"This is the worst-case scenario?" Rock asks. He stares at the busted cellphone. Eda has elevated his status as an asset and endangered him in one move.

"Without a doubt, this is bad," Mr. Chang says. "The Triad only communicates with American intelligence for business purposes. Now our working relationship has been imposed on by a moralistic Japanese man who's in this just to feel good."

On some level, everyone here is involved for their own gratification, but Rock will admit that none save for him are willing to be so disruptive. He really is stepping on Chang's toes now.

"I'll leave you untouched," he says. "But you've got valuable information bouncing around in that brain of yours now- the kind of stuff that could be used against me. You walk free on one condition."

"What do you want?" Rock prepares for the worst.

"You're going to carry a gun from now on, Rock. If you get caught and tortured and start talking about my connection to the U.S, it would be a real pain to deal with."

"Even if I had a weapon, I don't know what you expect from me," Rock says.

"The gun is for you to use against yourself," Mr. Chang says. "Sorry, Two-Hands, but surely you wouldn't want to see him tortured until he squeals?"

Revy looks grim. "He's not going to let himself get grabbed a second fucking time. Back during that contract for you in the Philippines, he didn't say a single word when he got snatched."

Chang has moved to the chair behind his desk. He crosses his legs and sits with his hands steepled in his lap.

"Rock was lucky," he says. "But I won't leave my secrets in unguarded hands. There is no negotiating this."

Rock needs to acknowledge Mr. Chang, at the very least. The details will be decided later.

"I understand," he says.

Chang nods. "Good. Now that we've heard from 'God', our business is done. Are you staying for dinner?"

Revy acts first. "I think we should be getting back. Dutch will be wondering where we are."

Chang gets up. "Allow me to show you out, then."

The elevator ride back down is just as tense, the music just as cheery. Rock wonders if he is truly about to escape the lion's den unscathed.

Just before they get into the car that will take them back to the warehouse, Chang holds Rock up. "Two-Hand, I need to talk to him for a moment, just us lads. Would you allow me to borrow him?"

Revy remains wary but lets them take a few steps away. It is only then that Mister Chang can tell Rock the truth.

"You are a very lucky man," he says. "If anyone else was taking these kinds of chances with Americans..."

Chang looks up to the top of his building, looking for words. This is not the first time he has had to chastise Rock for reaching too far.

"If you make serious trouble for me, it would be quite simple to end you," Chang says. "You think 'God' loves you, but the Church will let you bleed out if you let your new position get to your head."

Rock feels the hairs stand up on his neck. The threat is the clearest Mr. Chang has ever made.

"I used to go to Catholic school, Rock. I know plenty about God. You act like you trust Him, but maybe you should have read the Bible. There's a lesson there for you in Romans, Three," he says. "As it is written, there is none righteous, no, not one."

Chang cocks his head, knowing Rock will not respond. He seems disappointed when the silence confirms him. "Can you really say you want Roanapur how it used to be?" he says. "Take it from me, it was a real hellhole, the city of Babylon itself."

Rock looks away. He does not want to be reminded of the truth. It interferes with what he has to do.

"That way wasn't any more righteous than our times. Each day was an absolute slaughter. Watsap and his boys wouldn't even come out of their station to pick up the bodies."

Then Chang smiles, shaking his head. "I'd like to see you try and survive a single day in those times. Maybe you would understand, then. Blood and gunsmoke taste different when they come from your own mouth."

He looks to the car and sees Revy leaning against the hood, still out of hearing range. Chang thinks Rock gets his taste of hell secondhand from her lips.

It's not entirely false. Revy has protected him from the full force of his decisions. His hands have been kept clean, his own violence always indirect. But it meant that he gave Revy the work that he found distasteful- the task of killing.

"I hear Two-Hands actually does a pretty good job of training," Mr. Chang says. "Tell her I'm paying for your shooting lessons." He turns his head to gaze wistfully down the street and out to the ocean far away at the bottom of the hill. "There is nothing less useful than a fool who carries his weapon without the skill to use it."

On the ride back to the warehouse, Revy keeps looking sideways at Rock. She can tell that they were caught up in something more dangerous than anything before. Neutrality would be impossible when obeying government orders, especially when those orders brought them closer to the Triad. Balalaika or Ronnie would dispose of anyone helping their competition suck up to the U.S.A.

Dutch is waiting for them as they come back to the office. He has a glass of whiskey out by the armchair he is reading in. The cover of his book reads The Gulf War did not Take Place.

"The Triad came to pick their shit up," Revy says. "Chang wanted to see us for some damn reason."

Dutch takes a sip of whiskey and looks at them both. His reaction is muted.

"A visit with Mr. Chang?" he says. "Anything to report?

"Not really," Rock says. "I think he's nervous about Angel and the Nuevo Laredo cartel getting too close to the Russians. He wanted to gauge which side we were on."

It is a believable lie, but Dutch seems not to care because he changes the subject.

"How would you feel about a vacation?" he asks. "I think we all need a few days off after all this overtime."

Revy scoffs. "A fuckin' vacation? We get a shit-ton of days off already."

Dutch takes another sip. "What do you think, Rock? We've earned a hefty sum this week. Want to take the next one off?"

"I don't know what I would do, but..."

"It's important to maintain a healthy work-life balance," Dutch says. "Maybe you can pick up a new hobby outside of your job."

The way that Dutch intently looks into his book after saying that convinces Rock that he has some suspicions about what is happening and wants to pump the brakes on any further plans. A vacation should keep him out of the action for a while.

Before heading home, Rock and Revy get a little bit to eat in the market. Something about the lively atmosphere and the crowds affects him. The secret he has been keeping is out. It makes him talkative.

"You must have heard the rumors about how Chang used to be on the police force back in Hong Kong," Rock says. "In order to prove himself to the Triad, he had to get his unit killed. I don't understand how he could do that."

Revy looks at him through the steam rising off their bowls of tom kha ghai. Her silence was crystalline up to this point; now it shatters.

"Oh, you don't get it?" she says. "The part where a guy screws his buddies for his own shitty reasons?"

She attacks her bowl of rice with an unusual ferocity. He waits to hear more from her, but she busies herself with eating. It is strange to see such a subdued anger from her. It is not the cold hostility of her 'Whitman fever' or a frustrated rage. She sounds resentful.

"I didn't want to bring you into it," Rock says.

She stops for a second to raise her eyebrows at him. "You moved to your fancy uptown apartment," she says. "But we don't work any different."

She is talking about something from more than a year ago, a discussion they had about guns, bullets, and their connection. A relationship of mutual dependence. Even when unloaded, guns and bullets cannot change their fundamental association. Rock will not deny that.

"I should have told you earlier," he says. "But I was keeping it on the inside."

"You did a fucking terrible job of hiding it," she says. "We could tell what you wanted the whole time. Took you a long fucking time for you to find the balls to try for it."

Rock laughs at that. For months, he had felt like he was slipping deeper and deeper into a waking coma. Even now, the fog was only beginning to clear.

The truth frees them both up a little bit. Revy relaxes in her plastic chair. The food stalls are busy now with the traffic of the day and night shifts as they prepare to trade off.

A cage fighter fresh from the ring chugs a beer in his boxing trunks and robe, blood still dripping from his nose. A pimp carries multiple sticks of grilled meat to a table, and the tired look of the women there makes Rock think that they have just ended a workday.

Once he finishes his food, Rock pops the tab on his can of Singha. He takes a few sips before speaking. "Mr. Chang wants you to teach me how to shoot. He said he'll pay for it."

She almost spits out her soup. "Who the fuck said I do lessons?"

"You know, he says that you had a reputation for being a good teacher, too."

Revy rests her head in her hand. "All I did was show some of his guys how I reload when I have both Cutlasses in my hands. He thought it was worth paying me a few hundred dollars."

"I'm sure he'll give you more cash to give me the fundamentals," Rock says. "Will you teach me?"

Revy grumbles before giving her answer. "Okay. We'll go by the Rip-off Church tomorrow and see what they have for you."

Hearing that he will start tomorrow makes Rock feel strange. He thought it would have taken more time to cross that line of his.

"But you better not think you'll be Doc Holliday or something. And don't blow your fucking head off just because Mr. Chang tells you to."

Rock nods and Revy drinks the last of her soup and tosses her spoon in the bowl. By the time they are done with their beers, the market has pretty much cleared out. The night has begun. Rock borrows another cig from Revy.

"I don't feel like dropping by the bar tonight." She looks to him, stretching and yawning. "I should probably walk you back home, with how dangerous it is out here."

Rock feels himself smile. "You haven't been by my place yet, have you?"

She looks sheepish for a moment, but she turns her head. "I'm serious about it being fucking dangerous. You should get your own car with how far away you live."

"Maybe a scooter would suit me better," Rock says.

Revy snorts. "Maybe." She drains her can. "Are we going to get out of here or what?"

"Of course," he says, still smiling. "We just need to stop by a corner store. I'm out."

"Buy two packs," she says. "You always go a little wild when you haven't had any in a while."

He raises his eyebrows. "Two packs? Wow. I don't think it's physically possible to go through that many cigarettes at once."

She smiles. "Nothing worse than running out in the middle of the night."

They get up and leave the market, leaving it behind for the still-warm depths of the city.

Next day, they reach the Church in the afternoon. Eda is waiting outside the chapel as they pull over the crest of the hill and park in a patch of dirt. The whole hilltop where the church is situated is crisscrossed by all sorts of tire tracks: this is the one place authorized to deal firearms in Roanapur, and it accordingly can get very busy.

Eda's obvious boredom suggests that this Saturday has not been so active. She calls out to Revy as they approach.

"You're late. Where the hell were you?"

Revy calls back. "Hey, we're on vacation now. Fuck showing up on time."

Eda shakes her head and pushes the door behind her open with her foot. "You're the one who called me yesterday, saying you would come in the morning. Maybe I should say 'Fuck your discount' then."

She looks at Rock as he comes up the steps.

"Oh, what's wrong with him? Late night? Did she keep you up?"

"Hey, Mother Teresa," Revy responds. "Are we going to talk guns or not?"

Eda smirks, lifting her hands. "Alright, alright. Haven't you heard 'Love is patient and kind'?"

Revy grumbles while Eda goes to a pew and picks up a manifest.

"Alright, you said you wanted to talk about pistols. We've got a few laying around here. What do you need them for?"

Revy points to Rock. "Somehow, Chang got the idea that he needs to start carrying his own piece if we're going to get Triad jobs."

"Him?" she says, tilting her head back. "Packing heat is only going to make him a bigger target when the shooting starts."

Revy shrugs. "Maybe Chang thinks that's better than having someone tie him up and use him as an ashtray until he sings."

"Sounds like some pretty rough play," Eda says. "Maybe you should try a little and see how long it takes Rock to tap out. Maybe Rowan would pay you for a taping."

"Fucking Christ, I thought nuns were supposed to be pure."

Eda laughs and hands the list of pistols to her. Rock wonders how closely Eda adheres to her cover occupation. She definitely doesn't stay in her habit all the time and doesn't do any charity work. Does she even believe in God?

Revy scans the list. "Holy shit, why do you have so many guns just lying around?"

"What can I say, this city has a taste for handguns. It's good to keep ourselves stocked."

"You probably don't need as much space to store them, either" Rock says. "And you can cater to a wider base of customers by keeping a variety of products in stock."

Revy gives him a baleful look. "Godammit, Rock, we're here to buy a gun, not invest in their fucking stock."

She looks down at the sheet. "He isn't looking to make some shitty action flick, so we don't need those big guns."

Eda brings a pen from her robe and puts a neat line through anything chambered in .50, .44, and .375. Rock has to agree- carrying a Desert Eagle or one of Dutch's revolvers would be a no-go on multiple levels.

"You know what?" Revy says, hands on her hips. "Just go one step more and get anything full-size off the list. If someone sees him carrying a gun, he's going to get shot first."

Eda whistles. "Most of our stuff is big, Revy. Men in this town use the sight of their guns as the first line of defense. Plus there's the whole dick-measuring thing."

"He doesn't need to show it off," Revy says. "It just needs to be small enough that he can draw and shoot as a surprise."

Rock tries to imagine the process of pulling a gun and centering it on someone. Could he even pull the trigger? The thoughts make him look up. The stained-glass windows of the church obscure what light makes it through thick panes. Even inside of the house of God, it is dark. He finds his eyes drawn to the cross and the man fixed there, nothing more than a stranger to him.

Eda finishes striking through most of the list. "How about a snubbie? The old Corleone special."

They both look at Rock, probably imagining him with a tiny revolver shoved into his pants-pocket.

"Nah," Revy says. "He needs more than a few shots. I know him."

Eda nods in assent. "If you're talking small and semi-auto, what about something in .22 or .380?"

Revy seems unsure and Rock guesses that there is such a thing as 'too small' for her.

"Yeah, they're tiny enough to hide and they kill people all the time, but I don't trust them. I don't keep that ammo stocked."

Eda sighs. "You saw the list, everything left is 9-millimeter. You could have started there and saved me some time."

"Don't give me that shit. You're the one with the church full of 'Saturday night specials'," Revy growls.

The air of angry hostility builds until Rock speaks up. "Is there anything special about '9-millimeter'?"

The question brings Revy away from staring down Eda. "Special? Not really. It's the fucking McDonalds of bullets. I use it, but it's everywhere. Don't fuck up and buy the Russian 9mm, it's gotta be Parabellum only."

Eda scratches a single line off of her sheet. "Don't get it twisted with 9mm corto, either" she adds. "That's the .380 Auto your mommy won't let you have."

Rock tries to keep track of all of the information. He has never even pulled a trigger himself, so all the information he's hearing has nothing to latch onto.

"Fuckin' Christ, you got him confused now," Revy says.

Eda ignores her complaints and points to three circled entries on the paper. "At least you have the easy decision."

Revy looks at her choices for a solid minute. "Shit, I don't recognize any of these. C'mon Eda, just tell me which one's good."

The Sister has been waiting for this, Rock can tell from the little smile she gives right before she blows a bubble from her gum.

"Get the G26," she says. "I can vouch for the manufacturer."

Revy does a double take and looks to the gun under Eda's arm. "Should have guessed you want to sell him a Glock. Goddamn it, we're trying to buy a gun here, not a toy."

Rock struggles to understand Revy's criticism. For all he knew, it could be valid, but it could just as well be one of the odd prejudices she has picked up from her career. Eda is quick to jump to her own weapon's defense.

"Whoa there, we've talked about this before. This is durable polymer I'm carrying, not cheap plastic. The barrel is all metal, the firing mechanism is reliable, and the trigger pull is-"

"I have a question." Rock steps in to bring things back on topic. He can't think of a worse way to spend his weekend than arguing over firearms. "What price are you asking?"

Eda blows a bubble and lets it pop. "600 dollars, and those are friend prices."

Revy has a reflexive response. "Fuck you. $350."

"$550 and I throw a few magazines in for Rock."

Revy yawns. "A few clips aren't going to get the price much higher."

Eda looks over her shoulder at the rood mounted at the back of the church, and Rock thinks he hears her whisper something before she turns around.

"Okay, how about this. I'll add a special holster to keep the piece concealed. Gun, mags, and primo gear. All of that for $525. and I'm really gonna get shit from Sister Yolanda for giving it away that cheap."

Revy gives Rock a shrug. The cost is acceptable, even if she isn't enthused about the choice. She won't be angry, at least.

"We'll take it," he says.

Eda pops another gum-bubble. "I knew it. Wait for me outside, I'll grab your Glock."

In the light outside, Revy is not very vocal. Her eyes pass over the surroundings without focus. She leans against the wall, arms crossed, mind somewhere else entirely.

"I, uh, need another cigarette," Rock tells her.

She stirs from silence, her own smoke curling around her. "The fuck? Why didn't you buy some when you were at the store?"

"Must have slipped my mind," he says.

"I bet it did." Her smile is resigned.

When he lights up the cig, she has found her words. "Who do you think 'God' is?"

"Theologically speaking?"

"Fuck no. I mean the asshole on the phone that night with Mr. Chang."

"Maybe it was someone who works at this church?"

"Nah," she says. "Maybe Rico and Eda are in on it, but 'God' has to be someone we haven't met. Even without the voice being fucked with, it sounds like no one I know."

All Revy has to go off of is her own perception, and the way 'God' talked to them on the phone had sounded distinctly masculine. Rock only knows that Eda is 'God' through context.

Revy digs the toe of her boot into the concrete. "It's got to be some shithead back in D.C who gets off on the idea of controlling it all. Do you know what he said to me?"

He had almost forgotten that Eda had spoken to Revy over the cellphone. It had been very brief.

"What did he say?"

"He told me that I would get my criminal record wiped if I followed his orders. What a load of bullshit." She squints up at the sun. "Where the fuck is Eda?"

Rock has already sworn off the chance to return to his birthplace, but it seems very possible that Revy could be provided some pathway to freedom in her own country. Of course, there would be no reason for Eda to keep her promises.

After a few minutes of waiting, Eda comes from around a corner. She's in a half-crouch, ducking beneath the windows and peering through each one into the church. She has a case made of black plastic tucked under an arm.

"Sister Yolanda is around and y'all need to get the fuck out of here," she says.

Rock hands her a stack of dollars and gets the plastic case in return. She may not be lying. There is an actual sense of urgency in her movements. Eda also hands him some kind of weird black garment with two velcro straps hanging from it.

"Huh?" He dangles it by the straps.

"Your holster. Now go!"

When they get to the car, Revy inspects the holster for herself. "Holy shit, Rock, I think this goes under your belt, right above your dick."

He is driving but looks out of the corner of his eye as Revy goes through the purchase. She undoes the clasps on the pistol case and reveals the new gun. It has the same boxy shape he has seen on Eda's, but in a much smaller size. He imagines it hidden on his body, pressed against him.

They cross the bridge back to Roanapur, passing under the noose. The gun places him in a strange position, even if it will be hidden under his clothes. Revy has been looking it over, pulling the slide back and forth and squeezing the trigger slowly.

"We gotta stop by Praiyachat's place," she says. "This trigger feels like shit."

The streets of Roanapur are just starting to get busy, as people wake up from late nights of partying and set themselves for their next debauched evening. Hungover men walk into the sun, still half-asleep. A dealer passes a tiny bag of white powder into the hand of a tuk-tuk driver. Two paramedics load a shrouded body into the back of an old Toyota van and stand by the twin-snakes of the Caduceus, smoking and waiting for the next corpse to be brought out to their ambulance. Rock drives past all of it.

They park along the curb in front of Praiyachat's place. Revy hands him the case. He pops the lid and looks at the thing resting in foam.

"That's yours now. Treat it like it's part of your fuckin' body."

He closes the lid. "You're not exaggerating?"

"No," she says. "You get used to carrying guns around. When you don't have one, you're gonna feel it missing just like it was your kidney."

That makes it doubly dangerous for him. Rock knows he is easily addicted to the things that are bad for him. It explains why he can't leave Roanapur- he is habituated to the high of living there, even if he hates it. He might come to love a gun just as much, with its silent promise of power. Even sitting there unloaded, he already is imagining leveling it at his target, pulling the trigger and witnessing the sound and the fury erupt from the end.

Revy puts her hand on the case to force it shut.

"The only thing inside that box is some plastic and a little metal," she says. "Don't put anything more on it."

"Of course," Rock says.

"I'm serious." Her hand moves to his shoulder, and he feels her thumb pressing hard. "If you get yourself fucking shot because you think you're a gunman, I'll..."

Normally she would just threaten him without a second thought, but something is different today. She lets go of his shoulder.

"Just remember to keep it in your goddam pants until the last possible moment," she says. "I'm still your main gun."

She kicks open the car door to get out and then uses her boot to close it behind her. Rock scrambles to catch up as she enters Praiyachat's place. The ground floor is more or less a front for his workshop underneath.

When Praiyachat emerges from below, he is bemused. He crosses his arms as he looks at the Glock.

"What do you want with something like this?" he asks, face wrinkling with confusion.

"It's his,' Revy says, and nods towards Rock.

Praiyachat looks him over, unimpressed. "So, what do you want with it? I don't have all day."

"You can do something about the trigger, right? The pull is heavy and feels like shit."

"Oh, it'll cost you," Praiyachat says. "If you really want to give him the best, I need to order parts. That means half up front."

Revy points to Rock. "His gun, his money."

Praiyachat turns his back on Revy and beckons for Rock to join him. They have a brief haggling session and Rock knows he is lucky that he is only slightly over-paying. The old man knows his stuff; his skin is marked with tattoos, relics of his past.

"I'll call your office when I get all the parts in," Praiyachat says. "Now, shoo. I have more reasonable orders to deal with."

Revy nods. "Lemme borrow your range, then."

Praiyachat's eyes darken. "That's my private test range. Just go shoot cans and bottles in the outskirts like normal people."

"C'mon man. Rock will pay for the targets and the ammo."

Praiyachat checks Rock again. "Fine, a hundred dollars."

Rock hands another bill from his wallet. If this keeps up, his earnings from the two recent jobs would run thin. He expects more bribes and purchases on the path ahead.

Praiyachat unlocks a metal door and reveals his underground gun range. It is a tunnel lit with bare tubes of fluorescent light and the air is damp with the moisture of the uncovered soil. A thin metal rail runs along the roof. Revy hits a switch by the entrance, and a paper target is drawn closer by an electric motor.

Rock watches it with unease. it's the silhouette of a human figure, and two targets are drawn over it- one over the torso and a smaller one over the head. The paper has wrinkled with moisture, and the warped bullseye is hypnotic when he tries to focus on it.

"Listen up, because I'm only going to tell you once," Revy says. "You heard me say that the most important part of a gun is that you hit what you shoot, right?"

Rock nods. It was one of the few things he had picked up from her.

"That's a fuckin' lie," she says.

"What?"

"Shooting is easy. Do you want to know how I've seen most people die?"

Rock nods, and she starts. "Most of them died because they weren't ready. They didn't have their gun out, or they didn't have a bullet in the chamber, or they weren't looking in the right place when the shooting started. Nothing matters about your gun if you're not ready with it."

Rock has not heard her talk so openly about fighting. She is just as confident as always, but there is a dark edge to the words. These were lessons learned from seeing the fatal consequences.

"Put the safety on if you're not gonna shoot. Keep your gun pointed the fuck away from anything you don't want to kill," she continues. "I've seen shit-heads accidentally shoot their dicks off or blow their friends away because they didn't control where their gun was pointed."

Revy rips a box of ammunition open and tosses a bullet to Rock. He catches it and looks down at it in his palm. It is both too large and too small, now that has to think about it.

"That's the kind of bullet we use. Look at the back."

Rock turns it around to see the wider end.

"That circle in the middle is the primer. You pull the trigger to make the gun hit that and set it off. That's what makes gunfire."

Revy calls him closer for a demonstration and then draws one of her guns, dropping the magazine into her hand.

"I always carry one in the chamber," she says, and pulls back the slide, letting the bullet kick into the air. Rock catches it before it hits the ground.

She locks the slide back and hands it to him. despite being unloaded, her gun has a density to it. He almost drops it in surprise.

"That's three-and-a-half pounds of metal. That's the real fucking thing you're holding."

Revy carries two of them. Even though he's witnessed her strength before, he gains another level of appreciation for it- holding the weight at arms-length is nothing like carrying it close to the chest. She has him hold it out with his right arm, keeping it straight while his left hand supports it.

Revy takes a round and loads it into the chamber from the top."Don't do this on just any gun," she says. "You might fuck the bullet up."

He feels her step behind him. Her hands fix his stance and her body presses into his back.

"Hit that lever midway up the gun with your thumb," she says. "It'll drop the slide for you."

He does, and the gun shakes a bit as metal glides forward into position. The bullet is now in the chamber. It is ready to fire. She is still right behind him, her voice right next to his ear.

"When the hammer is back, the trigger pull is short," she says. "Don't put your finger down by it until you're ready to shoot. Going off too fucking early will kill you as easy as going off too late."

With one eye closed, he lifts her gun and tries to align it with the head of the target.

"Nuh uh," Revy says. Her glove is rough against his skin as she presses down on the front of the gun. "It's easier to hit the middle of the body. One bullet won't do it right away sometimes. Keep firing until the fucker stops moving."

She lets the pressure off, and Rock aims for the center of the largest target. His finger drops to the trigger. He squeezes down on it, feeling the mechanism tightening all the way until it reaches it breaking point, and lets go. There's a flash from the end of the gun, and a loud, loud sound. He can't hear anything, his ears ringing, his mind spinning.

"That hurts," he says, but he can't hear his own words. When he pulled the trigger, he wasn't thinking about how loud it would be in the confines of the tunnel.

The only triggers he had pulled before were on a flare gun and on a megaphone. Revy's pistol was a significant step up from that. He blinks a few times, seeing faint wisps of smoke dissipate into musty tunnel air.

"Jeezus," Revy says. "Dead fucking center?"

Rock sets the Beretta down on a table. "Is that weird? You had everything set up so well for me."

Revy mumbles something that he does not hear. There's one hole in the paper target, just left of the center dot. His first shot was a bullseye. There's something in him that thrills at seeing it, as if it proves some hidden truth about himself.

If Mr. Chang was right and there was nothing worse than a fool who didn't know how to use their gun, what kind of fool is he now? Can he ever be the same person again? Will he now look at people out in the world and see targets painted on them? It is all so new to him, and yet it is instantly intoxicating with its danger.

Revy claps him on the shoulder, grinning. She is feeling it too. "Okay, hotshot. Let's see you do that with a whole fucking mag."

His questions and worries soon disappear into the shock and the sound of his own gunfire.