Life Expectancy

can't be a wedding if you kill her."
        Smiling, nodding, he considered this as I held my breath. And considered it. Finally he said, "I want only happiness for the son of Rudy Tock, my father's savior and mine. This will be tricky with Honker and Crinkles, but we'll work it out."
        The "thank you" came out of me on an explosive exhalation.
        He left us and proceeded to the stairs.
        However reluctant she might have been to show weakness, Lorrie could not repress a shudder of relief that chattered her teeth.
        When Punchinello was out of earshot, she said, "Let's get one thing straight, baker boy. I'm not naming the first kid either Konrad or Beezo."
        Punchinello swung the sledge and broke blocks. Honker cut the re bar as it was uncovered. Crinkles moved the debris to the bottom of the stairs and out of the way. They were remarkably efficient and coordinated for a trio of clowns.
        Each time that Punchinello paused to rest, allowing Honker to use the acetylene torch, he stepped as far away from his companion as possible, to avoid the sparks showering off the re bar And each time he consulted his wristwatch.
        Obviously, they had calculated the time that the power company would need to repair the transformer and were confident with their conclusion. They didn't appear to be nervous. Crazy, yes, but not in the least anxious.
        My watch was on my left wrist, so I could check it without disturbing Lorrie, who was shackled to my right arm.
        Not that she took a nap as we leaned back against the cozy metal filing cabinets. She was wide awake and-I'm sure this will be no surprise to you-talking.
        "I wish my father had been a clown," she said wistfully.
        "Why would you want to live with such anger every day?"
        "My father wouldn't be an angry clown. He's a sweet-tempered man, just irresponsible."
        "He wasn't around much, huh?"
        "Always off chasing tornadoes," she said.
        I decided to ask: "Why?"
        "He's a storm chaser. That's how he makes his living, traveling the Midwest in his souped-up Suburban."
        This was 1994. The movie Twister would not be released until 1996. I had never imagined chasing tornadoes could be a career.
        Assuming that this had to be a put-on, I played along: "Has he ever caught one?"
        "Oh, dozens."
        "What's he do with them?"
        "Sells them, of course."
        "So once he's caught a tornado, it's his? He has a right to sell it?"
        "Of course. It's copyrighted."
        "So he sees a tornado, and he chases after it, and when he gets close enough-"
        "They're fearless," she said, "they get right in there."
        "So he gets right in there and then he-what?-you can't just shoot a tornado as if it were a lion on the veldt."
        "Sure you can," she said. "It's pretty much exactly the same."
        This was beginning to seem less like a put-on than like a kind of madness that Punchinello might embrace.
        "Would your father sell to me?"
        "If you had the money."
        "I don't think I could afford an entire tornado. They must be expensive."
        "Well," she said, "it depends on what you want to use it for."
        "I was thinking I could threaten Chicago with it, demand ten million, maybe twenty million, or else."
        She regarded me with clear impatience and with what might have been pity. "Like I haven't heard that lame joke a million times."
        I began to suspect that I was missing something. "I'm sorry. I want to know. Really."
        "Well, partly he charges by how much video you want to buy-a minute, two minutes, ten."
        Video. Film. Of course. He wasn't out there lassoing tornadoes. I had become so accustomed to her cockeyed conversation that when she said her father chased tornadoes, I hadn't been able to believe that she meant exactly what she said.
        "If you're a scientist," she continued, "he charges you a lower rate than he'd charge a television network or a movie studio."
        "Geez, that really is dangerous work."
        "Yeah, but it seems now like even if he had been a clown, that wouldn't have been a cakewalk, either." She sighed. "I just wish he'd been around more when I was a kid."
        "The tornado season doesn't last all year."
        "No, it doesn't. But he also chases hurricanes."
        "I guess he figures he's already geared up for