Dr Jew

mouth," said Adam. "It's like light is coming from his nostrils or from up in his brain."
    "That 's so cool," said Swan. "Please go on."
    Adam furthered the description with mountains of unnecessary data that delighted Swan. Ueda turned his attention back to his newspaper. He had been reading about Proposition 86, that would give plants all the legal rights of individuals, when another article stole his attention. It was a small paragraph – a blurb nuzzled between a larger story and a Viagra ad, and he almost missed it.
    BUILDING BURNS IN RICHMOND
    A square of housing off Balboa Street in the Richmond District burned to the ground around 2 AM on Tuesday. Firefighters arrived promptly and made little headway against the blaze. "We believe this was arson," said Al Mosco, one of the firefighters on the scene. All tenants of the building have been accounted for, except for a "Jew doctor," as described by the building's owner, but whose name could not be confirmed.
    A Jew doctor. Possibly another, but more likely the incompetence of the newspapermen and other parties involved. And arson. There it was. Ueda looked at Adam, blithely delineating the Purpura Flakes commercial as it rumbled on. Did the "man" have it in him?
    Ueda placed the newspaper in front of Adam and the half-man stopped speaking. He looked the paper over. "This ad says Viagra is half-off," said Adam.
    "Not that," said Ueda. He pointed to the small article he had just read. Adam found it and his brow furrowed in concentration.
    "Jew doctor?" he finally said. "Do you think they mean Dr. Jew?"
    "Yes," said Ueda . "We can go to his building to see if it's the one that burned. Unless… you have something you wish to share with us, Adam?"
    "Share?" said Adam.
    "About this blaze," said Ueda.
    Adam looked suspiciously at Ueda. "I see. You think I did it."
    "I did not say that."
    "You didn't have to," said Adam.
    "Do you deny your involvement?"
    "Let's go take a look," said Adam.
    "At what?" said Swan, who was now ready for his ration of Purpura Flakes.

    They found a flush of rubble where Dr. Jew's apartment building had been. The ruins of the old building were cordoned by the yellow ribbon of police containment and its black capital letters.
    "I didn 't do this, Ueda," said Adam. "I swear."
    "Okay."
    "You don't believe me?"
    "I don 't believe anything. What I believe doesn't matter. If your conscience is clear, that is your business. But a man may be dead because of this fire, and living with that is not an easy thing. Whoever did this – and I think someone did, it doesn't feel like an accident – will have to live with it."
    "Maybe Simpatico?" said Adam.
    "Maybe anyone," said Ueda. "A man who could generate enemies so quickly in the short time I've known of him… I'm sure you weren't the only ones with a grudge."
    "But why now? I would suspect me of doing this too. Or Sergio Simpatico."
    "I don 't think anyone could blame you, or Sergio. But still. A life."
    "I 'm starting to see some light again," said Swan, bored with the rubble. "Also I'm hungry."
    "I have a lot of cereal," said Ueda.
    And when they got back to Ueda's they cracked open a new box of Purpura Flakes and Swan squealed with delight when he found a Gilbert Gottfried toy inside.
    "Awesome!" said Swan. "My vision's still blurry. Who is he?"
    "Don 't open the plastic," said Ueda. "But let's see if he's a rare one."
    Through the plastic bag Ueda pressed the button on the back of Gottfried. The doll said, "Let's make love!"
    Ueda sighed. "Damn."

XLVIII.

    In a city thousands of miles from San Francisco, in a mall that was inflated unreasonably like an American waistl ine, was a movie theater with eighteen screens. On one of these screens, and only for a few days more, the Swine Trek film held residence and was concluding its 1:00 PM showing. The audience was sparse, their mood unreadable, but a study of the faces would have led you to believe that a marathon was concluding, and whatever the film had lacked in quality was compensated by quantity, barrelfuls of images that ran together seamlessly with the perennial themes of sex, violence, and disease. A couple in the audience had abandoned the film after only fifteen minutes, not enough time to appreciate Philip K. Glassdick's opening loop (it really had to be absorbed for its full 45 minutes), and demanded a refund of the manager. The manager, using techniques he had learned at a community college NLP course, had been able to waylay the