The building caught fire in the late afternoon. By dark the scene was glorious and terrifying: glorious because auroral sheets of red and yellow were dancing and feinting and swooning against the black sky, terrifying because - well, have you ever burned the tip of your finger on a match, on nothing more than a sliver of wood with a dab of sulfur? Then you know how it is with fire and pain. And from time to time an organ of flame reached for heaven, a long stream of energy tapering into the dark, reaching and stretching till it narrowed to a point that threw off sparks, and this was like the tongue of the devil himself blowing the cosmic raspberry to Great God Above. If that doesn't give you the creeps, you've got better nerves than I do.

This is where I first met Bernice. She was standing behind me in the mob that was there to witness the murder of this fine house. I say murder because I'm guessing it was one of those my-house-burned-down-I'm-here-for-recompense type deals. I'm not guessing, exactly. The paper gave some print to it a couple months later when the insurance dicks nailed just such a person. Bernice, like I said, was right behind me, and she was chuckling in a pretty disturbing way. People backed off from her a bit, but I stayed where I was. We were like a little castle with a moat around it, if you want to be romantic, and you might as well be, 'cause not two hours later we were in her apartment going at it about like that fire was going at those beams.

To tell you the truth, the woman scared me bad. She managed her hips the way a construction worker manages a pneumatic drill. Yes, you'd think her pelvis was designed to tear up asphalt and stone. I'm as solid as the next person, but my skeleton was not built to take that kind of abuse. To hear her talk afterwards, you'd think I'd done a most impressive job. I don't suppose she had any way of knowing that I was just hanging on for dear life trying not to wind up on the floor with a cracked skull or something.

We stretched out sweaty and drank some wine. We talked about our aspirations. I said I always wanted to direct a movie. She said she wanted to rob a bank and was I interested.

"No. I don't think so."

"Not just any bank. There's one on Third and Main. I want to rob that one. You ever been there for help? They treat you like a dog."

"You don't go to banks for help. That's not what they do."

She said, "It may not be what they want to do, but they can be persuaded."

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© Ragnar Kvaran 2003