Chapter 5

           ThepaperbackI’dbeenreadingwasbesidemypillow.

           ItwasamysterynovelaboutanAmericandetectivewhowassupposedtobesomesortofexpertontheOrient.IhadmyindexfingerwedgedintoascenewhereallthekeyplayersmeetfordinnerataJapaneserestaurantinNewYork.

           Withoutrising,Ilookedcarefullyaroundthebarracks.Nothinghadchanged.Theswimsuitpinupstillhadtheprimeminister’shead.Theradiowiththebustedbassgratedoutmusicfromthetopbunk;frombeyondthegraveasingeradmonishedusagainstcryingoveralostlove.AfterwaitingtobesuretheDJwouldreadtheweatherreportinherbubblegumvoice,Isatup.

           IshiftedmyweightasIsatontheedgeofthebed.

           IpinchedmyarmashardasIcould.ThespotIpinchedstartedtoturnred.Ithurtlikeabitch.Tearsblurredmyvision.

           "Keiji,signthis."

           Yonabarucranedhisneckoverthesideofthetopbunk.

           "…"

           "What’sthematter?Stillasleep?"

           "Nah.Youneedmysignature?Sure."

           Yonabarudisappearedfromview.

           "MindifIasksomethingalittleweird?"

           "What?Ijustneedyoutosignonthedottedline."Hisvoicecamefromoverthebedframe."Don’tneedyoutowriteanythingelse.Nofunnydrawingsofthelieutenantonthebackornothin’."

           "WhywouldIdothat?"

           "Idunno.It’swhatIdidthefirsttimeIsigned."

           "Don’tstartcomparing-ah,forgetit.WhatIwantedtoaskwas,theattack’stomorrow,right?"

           "Sure.That’snotthekindathingtheygochangin’up."