I frowned. “My understanding was that my role would always be pretty straightforward. And never complex.”

The Broker reached for the pack of cigarettes and selected one and lighted it up with the golden Zippo. “Life is inherently complex. The human organism itself is complex, with enough moving parts to make the inner workings of a Swiss watch seem about as complicated as a slingshot. And human relationships…my God, they are even more complex than that!”

“Death isn’t.” I sipped Coke. “It’s just a switch that gets turned off.”

A white eyebrow lifted in the tan face. “You are correct, Quarry. Unarguably correct. Each death, each killing, is inherently simple, a mere stoppage…but you will not be not dead, Quarry, after you’ve done your fatal work: you must live to kill another day, even though you are caught up in the complexities of the life that you’ve just taken, complexities that continue on after death-and I speak not of the decay of the flesh, rather the remnants of human relationships.”

Did I mention he was a pompous motherfucker?

He was saying, “A switch you turn off, you say, that’s what death is. Fine. Let’s accept that premise. So you turn off a switch on the second floor of a house with which you’re unfamiliar-what do you do? You stumble in the dark. Perhaps you fall down a flight of stairs to your own death.”

“You’re saying this is not about blundering in, pulling a trigger, and blundering out.”

“Correct.”

“Well, I know that.” I shrugged and poured some more Coke. “I learned this particular skill taking part in missions that were well-thought-out.”

“Really? How is that war going?”

Well, he had a point.

He exhaled smoke. Then he sipped coffee. And smiled. How could that fucking smile be so white with all the cigarettes and coffee he sucked down? Too complex for me.