"It's all right."
There's a clank. Like metal on metal.
"What was that?"
"That's bullet one."
"That was easy."
"See? We could have done this a long time ago and saved you some pain."
"I'll call you after my next shooting."
"Or you could try not getting shot."
"Where's the fun in that?"
He laughs a little.
"That's why you and Candy get along. That's what she'd say."
Candy is the last thing I want to talk to Kinski about when he has his hands in my guts.
"What's the going rate for magic surgery?"
Another piece of metal drops.
"It's on the house."
I don't say anything for a minute.
"How the hell do you make a living? You never have any patients and you don't charge me for surgery or for dragging my friends in here. What's going on?"
"You're tensing up. Relax. Every time you move, the bullets shift."
"Okay."
"And for your information, how I make a living is my business, not yours. As for why I don't charge you, let me ask you a question. Have you ever asked yourself how you survived all those years in Hell? Do really think you lived with Hellions and survived the arena because you're that much of a badass?"
"I don't know. I used to think about it, but I could never find any reasons. And I was kind of busy getting my ass kicked, so I stopped worrying about it."
"Well, you're back and there aren't any monsters chasing you right now. Tell me how it is that you, by yourself, managed to stay alive all those years."
"I don't know."
"Guess."
"I don't know. I'm nothing special."
"You think so? You fell into the bottom of the cesspool of Creation, survived and crawled out again. Doesn't that sound just a little special?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do. A regular person, a civilian, wouldn't have lasted a day down there, much less eleven years."
Another piece of metal falls.
"What does that mean?" I ask.