An 8mm bullet from a caseless-cartridge machine gun had imbedded itself in Diego's derriere sideways- -obviously after the misshapen slug had punched ...hrough something hard and bounced of another hard object. It was barely recognizable. The old 20th Century forensics would not have been able to positively match bullets from those 8mm folding machine guns to specific guns because of the polygonal rifling and the lack of ejected cartridge cases. Getting smacked by a spent bullet still hurt--and. "Why must you breathe so deeply?" he asked me. I just wanted to melt right there. "Oh, nothing. It is just that this car smells so good, sir," I said. Plain lie. He said to me with a soft expression, "You can call me Julian, or even Dad, if we get to that stage." We may never get to that stage, I thought to myself. Not because I didn't think of him as a father, but because I could barely believe that such a man could have created me. He looked like something from the gods, while I just look. More

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