I chastise him about his mistakes and tell him where he's going wrong. I was very specific, but my words are lost on me now in waking; though, I think, I said something along the lines of "you're using too much time, and time means money." My ex-Boss heartily agrees and it's as though we've repaired our relationship—I'm once again the golden boy of the company.
The police detective(s) have found us at the German boarding house. We try to play it cool, innocent. They interview us and we try to give nothing away; but we feel the heat and know we must get away.
We're speeding along the night motorway in an old Porsche 944. The detectives are in pursuit. They momentarily catch up, but I floor it and we surge ahead. I see an image of our car from the perspective of the detectives' car—we're pulling away in front.
Suddenly, there are a series of three Maestros parked perpendicular on the left of the carriageway, and both cars trying to avoid them crash. The detectives worse than us. We haul out a detective on the brush at the side of the motorway, there's a struggle.
I'm on the underside of the detective trying to choke him Brazilian ju-jitsu style. I'm overpowering him, but sense that the job needs to be finished. I draw out a snub nose revolver and push the snout to his temple. I pull the trigger.
My partner is distressed by how hardcore this has gotten, but it's too late now. I toss the gun away into the long grass. Stealing back to the car I wonder why I threw the weapon away, and notice that the detective isn't quite dead. I return.
There's a modern style pistol in the detective's jacket, a colt 45 style gun, I take it and shoot him in the head.
Contemplating suicide, I see a schema of a guillotine style blade attached over/in the mouth (the flats of the blade between the teeth, the blade facing the back of the throat). The idea is that the blade will chop the head in two uneven halfs: the lower jaw plus the body from the neck down; and the upper jaw and rest of the head.
I suddenly see this arrangement attached to my baby daughter's head. It cuts her, and I see pale, pinkish, watery blood staining the steel blade. It should be harrowing, but I don't feel scared as somehow the image is only an image of my daughter, and not actually her.
This section reminds me of the ice cream spoons.
Nana is naked on the bed. There's no blood on her midriff (after 5 months of breastfeeding her period has begun again in waking life) and she tells me her period has stopped. The image of her privates reminds me of something, in waking I think it's the grill of a modern Jaguar S-type. I'm unwillingly repulsed by it.
The visiting Japanese girl is homesick and wants to watch Japanese television shows on the TV. She can't figure out how to do it, and is waiting for someone to sort it out for her. The other person tells her that I've already set up the TV for watching Japanese shows; and I sluggishly offer to show her, resigned to getting up and doing it from my comfortable position on the sofa.
The same girl is now under some kind of medical observation and is being x-rayed. I see a circular x-ray image of her hips with three objects or some type of graphics at three points around the circumference of the circular x-ray image. I sense I'm being told something but can't decode it. I wake.
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