She poured a small amount of rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball and cleaned the needle before screwing it onto the main body. The syringe was old. It was made of brass and was as big around as a roll of dimes. The shaft of the plunger had a large brass ring at the end for the thumb. After she had cleaned and assembled it, she placed the needle down into the clear vial and pulled back on the plunger, siphoning liquid up into the syringe. The level of fluid in the vial went down by half an inch.

"How much do you weigh?" She removed the needle from the vial and turned it up to remove any air bubbles.

"One hundred and sixty-five pounds," I answered.

"That's about what I thought," she said looking at the fluid level through the narrow graduated glass window that ran the length of the syringe's polished brass body. She recorked the vial and replaced it in the case. "Would you like a cigarette before we begin?"

I nodded solemnly. She acted with such confidence that I began to think she really could do this. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, even if it were, it beat her calling the police and having to answer questions about running from a burning building.

She pulled out an orange and white pack of cigarettes and placed one between my lips. I recognized the brand from the distinctive color of the pack. They were Lendts, a Turkish brand that used to be very popular there. I hadn't remembered them until now.

Vasili had lived in Bulgaria until 1946 when the Communist takeover finally reached the countryside. He and his wife Vanya refused to give up their land and join the newly organized collective farm. They were taken to separate internment camps. Vanya died shortly after entering prison and Vasili escaped to Istanbul upon his release in 1948. He started smoking in prison and changed from the Bulgarian state brand to Lendts when he arrived in Turkey.

She struck a match and held it to the end of the short unfiltered cigarette. "Centuries of flavor," I said matter of factly, recalling the Lendts slogan.

She gave me a surprised look as she lit hers. "You've smoked Lendts before?" she asked, exhaling a plume of smoke.

"In another life." I laid back and rested my head on the edge of the tub. It was a stronger smoke than I was used to. We said nothing for a long time as we smoked. Her beautiful black catlike eyes never wavered no matter how long she stared at me.

"Thanks," I said, breaking the silence.

"For what?"

"For the smoke, for the help."

"Well wayward one, as I said, you landed in the right place. Speaking of help, I'm ready to begin. Close your eyes please, this may sting a little."