Mona turned off the lights. The place was less ugly then. She undressed herself in the dark ofJohnny's flat, then scented herself with a spray mist, sat down at the edge of his bed and waited.
Johnny stepped out of the shower, saw the blackness beyond the slit of the open door and instinctively hit the wall switch. His eyes adjusted, then he saw her clearly, seated perfectly still in the small square of moonlight that fell through the window. The only movement came from her fingers working over something hidden in her hand. He threw on a towel, watching her all the while. He heard a small humming sound coming from her as she began rocking slowly back and forth on his bed.
Water over Heaven. Auspicious sign.
Water over Heaven. Cross the river, move forward.
Buddhist, Johnny thought at first, then realized it was "Taoist invocation.
When she saw him the spell broke.
The towel dropped as he approached her, the two of them falling together, onto the bed. She, warm and soft, and he, cold from the shower rinse, hard with desire. Yin crashing into Yang.
He turned on a small light, showing her the pistol as she pressed her softness against him. She peered along the barrel and silencer, squinted and imagined the target in her sights. She took a breath and squeezed the trigger, heard the hammer snapping down on the unloaded pistol.
"Don't worry," Johnny said. "You won't be shooting far and there's no kick."
Mona watched asJohnny chambered a round for her, flicking on the safety, then ejected the round, explaining the slide action to her.
"All you need to do is squeeze," he said. He passed the bedsheet over the Titan in a quick wipe, cursory but careful enough to remove his prints.
Mona turned off the light on the night table, leaving the bedroom illuminated only by moonlight. She climbed on top of him and worked her body until he was hard again, inside her. Almost a half hour passed before she rolled off him.
"Will you help me load those extra bullets, my love," her lips demanded just before sliding over the head of his hardness.
In the dim light he groped for and found the extra six-shot magazine, never taking his eyes off her head, then felt again for the small box of bullets, spilling them across the night table. He was in ecstasy, his mind drifting, with clammy hands slipping the little bullets into the magazine.
Her head was bobbing, eyes open, watching him, her tongue twisting inside her mouth. He tossed the loaded clip onto the night table as her lips tightened on him, her fingernails fluttering, closing on his testes. He was ready to explode, to blast himself away from Chinatown, to a sunny place far from the reaches of the mean and unforgiving city.