Where Nerves End

acupuncturist.”
Seths eyes widened. “Youre actually going to call him?”
“Yes.” I gestured at Seths client. “Dont let me keep you from your work. I can get it when youre done.”
“The hell you can.” He nodded toward the desk behind the counter. “My phones next to the computer. Its an awfully technical phone, but Im sure you—”
“Shut up,” I said, chuckling.
Seth returned to his client and put on a pair of fresh gloves. As the tattoo needle fired upagain, I picked up the phone off Seths desk and turned it on.
“Its listed as Tucker Springs Acupuncture,” he said without looking up from his work.
“Thanks.” I found the listing and sent it from his phone to mine.
“Any time.”
    * * *
    I made the call on Monday morning, and on Tuesday, I followed the receptionists directions across town to a shopping center a couple of blocks from the freeway. Nothing screamed credibility for a medical professional like setting up shop in a strip mall, but I also knew just how difficult it was to find a place with a reasonably affordable lease and some actual visibility. That was why my nightclub lived in an old converted warehouse on the notquite-as-nicely-kept side of the Light District. Glass houses, throwing stones, etc.
    Still sitting in my car, I took a deep breath and stared at the clinic.
The sign over the windowed storefront read Tucker Springs Acupuncture between a black and white yin yang and another symbol I didnt recognize. Seth had been after me for two years to do this, and middle of the night desperation had finally convinced me, but now, I wasnt so sure.
I was here, though. Id made the call, made the appointment, and had the cash in my wallet in spite of the fact that I could not afford this. What did I have to lose? It wasnt like that shit was dangerous or anything. I couldnt imagine there were too many side effects, and I didnt see myself getting addicted to it.
I just stared at the letters and the yin yang and the tinted windows below them, silently demanding they justify themselves. Offer proof. Offer some reason for me to believe it would be worth it to walk through that shining glass door.
Whenever my mom tried to sell me on acupuncture—and she had since the day Id fucked up my shoulder—Id just brushed it off as another miracle cure shed taken at face value. My mom had chronic pain too, and gladly put her faith in anything that held even the slightest promise of relief, whereas I regarded every potential treatment as not only snake oil, but the snake itself. At best, quackery. At worst, dangerous. And no matter what, fucking expensive.
Seth? Not so much. My mom wasnt stupid by any means, but Seth was one of those people who refused to buy into anything until hed exhausted every reason to avoid it. For that matter, the man had a “Professional Skeptic” bumper sticker on his truck, and one of his tattoos was some symbol that apparently identified him as an atheist. He demanded empirical proof for everything, and I do mean everything. If it didnt have at least a dozen peer- reviewed studies published, it was bullshit in his eyes. To say the least, Seth wasnt the type to buy into snake oils and homeopathic nonsense.
What did I have to lose? Money, mostly. That wasnt something I could throw around frivolously right now, not with words like “foreclosure” and “bankruptcy” looming in my near future. But at the same time, if it meant pain relief, and thus fewer refills for my expensive and neverending painkiller prescription…
I still wasnt completely buying it. I still didnt believe there was anything a couple of needles could do for an injury like mine unless those needles were being used to inject something.
But after the last couple of nights, I was desperate.
So what the hell? Id give it a try.
I got out of the car and started toward the clinic. I stopped on the sidewalk to read the sign in the window beside the door. It echoed the name and yin yang overhead, and in smaller font, listed various ailments that the acupuncturist claimed to treat.
Infertility.
Drug addiction.
Vision problems.
Asthma.
On and on and on. God, this smacked of a snake oil salesman. One tincture to treat every ailment under the sun! A miracle cure! Hallelujah! That’ll be $79.99 please, cash, check, charge, or firstborn.
But I hadnt slept last night. My shoulder still throbbed relentlessly, and my head was still light from lack of sleep and the second dose of painkillers Id taken at