She opened her handbag and pulled out a metal tin. It contained a row of black unfiltered cigarettes with gold tips. “Fresh from a diplomatic pouch,” she said. She handed him one. “Try it,” she said. A lighter materialized in her hand as well.

A girl who’s good with her hands, Onishi thought as he took a deep drag. Promising. He was also relieved that she hadn’t slipped in the what-do-you-do question yet. He always answered that he was a “systems administrator for the government,” and nobody ever asked further, though if they did, he had a practiced line about “platform interoperability” involving the Departments of Agriculture and Transportation. It was so stupefying that it was guaranteed to repel further inquiries. But the real reason he was glad she hadn’t asked was that the one thing he did not want to think about was his job. His real job. In recent days it had become so stressful that his shoulders began to ache as soon as he went to his office. What a string of bad luck they’d had. Fucking unspeakable. All that sweat, all those years—and the goddamn Mobius Program was imploding. He needed to get lucky in some other department of life. Hell, he deserved to get lucky.

The beautiful blonde’s eyes lingered on his face as the thick smoke filled his lungs. Something about him seemed to fascinate her. A new song came on: the one from the soundtrack of that big new World War II flick. Onishi loved that song. For a moment, he felt he might fly away with happiness.

He coughed. “Strong,” he said.

“It’s what cigarettes used to be like,” she said. She spoke with a very faint accent, but he couldn’t tell what kind. “Now be a man. Suck it in.”

He took another drag.

“Special, isn’t it?” she said.

“A little harsh,” he said, tentatively.

“Not harsh, rich. I swear, with most American cigarettes you might as well be smoking typing paper.”

Onishi nodded, but in truth he was beginning to feel more than a little dizzy. It must really be strong tobacco. He felt himself flushing, and starting to sweat.

“Oh my poor dear, look at you,” the blonde said. “You seem like you could use some fresh air.”

“Might do some good,” Onishi agreed.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go for a walk together.” He started to reach for his wallet, but she put down a twenty, and he was feeling too faint to demur. Dexter would be wondering what happened to him, but he could explain later.

Outdoors, in the cooler air, the dizzy feeling persisted.

She reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly. In the streetlights, she looked even more beautiful—unless that was more evidence of his dizzy state.

“You don’t seem so steady on your feet, you know,” she said.