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turned on the computer. It was nearly empty. Weather, TV schedule, more weather, and sites for three different Mardi Gras krewes. His e-mail was boring and work-related or boring and personal. He was invited to a lot of dinner parties. He didn’t go to many.
    That was it for the office. I asked Leon if I could use the house keys for a minute. He looked confused but said yes.
    I took the keys and left the house and walked down to the corner. Then I stopped, turned, and walked back. Nice block, lots of cute houses, swanky apartment buildings like Vic’s, gardens with bougainvillea and banana trees, lots of bright fresh paint. His building didn’t have parking, so likely Vic would often have to park a block or more away. Every day Vic would walk down this block, see these gardens, and those cute houses, and then get to his house. His house stood up well by comparison. It was as nice as any in the neighborhood.
    I let myself in. Stopped and chatted with a few imaginary people by the pool. I looked at the concrete floor of the courtyard. No bullet marks.
    I said goodbye to my imaginary neighbors and climbed the stairs. I opened the door to the house and put the keys on the little antique table placed by the door for just that reason. I looked at Leon, who’d turned on the TV.
    â€œShoot me,” I said.
    Leon lifted up his hand into the shape of a gun and shot me. I fell back. I rolled over and looked at the floor where I’d fallen. Nothing. No gunshot, no stab marks, no blood.
    â€œCan you do me a favor?” I asked.
    Leon looked unsure. “Of course. Sure. It depends.”
    â€œCan you go outside and ring the doorbell?”
    Leon looked relieved and went outside. I sat on the sofa. He rang the doorbell. I didn’t answer. He rang it again. I flipped through channels on TV. Leon rang the doorbell again. This time I stood up, walked to the door, and answered.
    â€œOh my God,” I said. “It’s you.”
    Leon smiled, getting into the swing of things. Everybody loves a mystery.
    â€œAnd I have a gun,” he said.
    â€œYou’re threatening me,” I said. I took a few steps back.
    â€œYes,” Leon said. “I’m making threats with the gun.
Real
threats with a
real
gun.”
    I thought for a moment. Leon kept his gun hand fixed on me.
    â€œHe would have turned,” I said. “And run toward his gun.”
    I turned toward the office.
    â€œBang,” Leon said behind me.
    â€œBang,” I repeated. I crouched down and looked at the floor. No bullets, no scars.
    â€œDo you have a metal detector?” I asked Leon.
    â€œAh, no,” Leon said.
    Sometimes I don’t get people. For people like Leon it was always someone else’s job to bring the metal detector or the magnifying glass or pony up the fingerprint dust. In any case, it was unlikely Vic was shot in the house. No blood, no bullets, nothing out of place.
    I left and walked around the block again and thought about nothing. When I came back my mind was fresh. I opened the door and started again. Leon was sitting on the sofa watching
Love Connection
.
    â€œYou kept the cable on?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” Leon said. “Just the power. They just never shut it off.”
    I put my keys and some imaginary mail down on the little antique table by the door. I took off my boots and went to the bathroom. I went to the kitchen and pretended to look for something to eat. With my imaginary snack, I went back to the living room.
    That was when I saw it. Something in the living room was off. I stood and looked at the room for a few minutes before I saw what it was.
    It was the furniture. The furniture arrangement was off. In a traditional-swanky place like Vic’s, the living room should have been symmetrical. But it wasn’t.
    The sofa was good and centered. One wing chair sat off to the side at a proportionate distance. But the other wing chair was off, a good two feet away from