Life Expectancy

much more able to make the most of my time and to focus my energies without the distraction of testicles."
        I had expected that we'd get around to this sooner or later. "I'm sorry about that, but you really didn't give me any choice."
        With a wave of his hand, he dismissed his loss as if it were of no consequence. "There's plenty of blame to go around. What's done is done. I don't live in the past. I live for the future."
        "I limp on cold days," I told him.
        He wagged a finger at me, rattling the chain that tethered his hand to the table. "Don't be a whiner. You didn't give me any choice, either."
        "I suppose that's true."
        "I mean," he said, "if we're going to get into a blame game, I hold the trump card. After all, you killed my father."
        "It's even worse than that," I said.
        "And you didn't name your firstborn son after him, like you promised.
        Annie, Lucy, Andy, no Konrad."
        A chill traveled my spine as I listened to him recite our children's names. "How do you know their names?"
        "They were in the newspaper last year, after all the hoo-ha."
        Lorrie said, "By 'hoo-ha," do you mean his attempt to kill us and kidnap our Andy?"
        Making a patting motion with his hand, as if to gentle Lorrie, Punchinello said, "Relax, relax. There's no Hatfield-and-McCoy thing between us. He could be a difficult man."
        "Maybe 'difficult' isn't descriptive enough," Lorrie suggested.
        "Tell it like it is, girl. And who would know better than me? Maybe you remember, nine years ago, when we were in the subcellar of the bank, when everything was fun and hadn't turned ugly yet, I told you that I had a cold and loveless childhood."
        "You did," I agreed. "You said exactly that."
        "He tried to be a good father to me, but it wasn't in him," Punchinello said. "Do you know all the years I've been in here, he never sent me a Christmas card or a little money for candy?"
        "That's hard," I said, and actually felt a faint flutter of sympathy for him.
        "But surely you haven't come here just so we could tell one another what a bastard he was."
        I said, "Actually-"
        He held up a hand to halt me. "Before you tell me why you're here, let's agree upon terms."
        "What terms?" Lorrie inquired.
        "Obviously, you want something important from me. You didn't go to all this trouble just to apologize for castrating me, though I appreciate that you did. If you get something from me, it's only fair that I be compensated."
        "Maybe you better hear what we want first," I suggested.
        "No, I'd prefer to get the basic terms established," he said. "Then if I feel I'm getting the short end of the trade, we can revise the deal."
        "All right," Lorrie said.
        "First, I'd like to receive a birthday card every August ninth, and a Christmas card every year. Most of the guys here get cards now and then, but I never do."
        "Two cards," I agreed.
        "And not junk cards or those ones that are supposed to be funny but are really just mean," he qualified. "Something from Hallmark with a nice sentiment."
        "Hallmark," I agreed.
        "The library here is underfunded, and we can only receive books directly from a publisher or a bookstore, not from individuals," he explained. "I'd very much like you to arrange for a bookstore to send me every new paperback by Constance Hammersmith."
        "I know those books," I said. "She writes about a detective with neurofibromatosis. He goes all around San Francisco wearing a hooded cloak."
        "They're fabulous books," he declared, and seemed delighted to discover that we shared this literary enthusiasm. "He's like the Elephant Man and nobody ever loved him, he's always been ridiculed, an outcast, so he shouldn't give a crap about anyone, but he does. He helps people in trouble when no one else will."
        "She writes two books a year," I said. "You'll get them both as soon as they hit paperback."
        "The last thing is… I'm allowed to have a cash account. I'd like a little money for candy, gum, and now and then Cheez Doodles."
        In the end, he had become such a pathetic monster.
        "The money's going to be a problem," Lorrie said.
        "I don't want much. Like fifty dollars a month or forty. And not forever, just as long as seems fair. Life in here without money is