Cosmopolis

Don DeLillo

He paced through his 48-room apartment, past the Borzoi cage, past the shark tank. The yen had risen overnight. Eric Packer didn't know what he wanted. Then he knew. He wanted a haircut.

"There's gridlock because the president's in town," said Torval, as the stretch limo pulled into the traffic. "You'd be better off not using the car."

"How do you know we're in the car and not in the office?" Eric snarled, staring at his bank of screens.

He glanced out the window. Was that his wife, Elise, the heiress? "I didn't know you had blue eyes," she said.

"When are we going to make love?" he replied.

Michael Chin got in the car. "I know where there's a Rothko for sale."

"I'll buy the whole gallery."

The car stopped to pick up his finance director, Jane Melman. "Your position on the yen is critical," she said.

"It can't go any higher," he answered, passing her a bottle to masturbate herself.

They stopped by Dr Ingram's surgery for his daily check-up. "Your prostate is asymmetrical."

Back en route, they passed a bookstore. Eric spied his wife again. "You smell of sex," she whispered.

"Have lunch with me."

"Is this what I wanted," she said, looking at her plate.

"I need a haircut."

Eric got back in the limo. The yen had to chart. He was the most powerful man in New York. He made the markets. He was like the famous novelist who could write utter crap and know that neither his editor nor the critics would notice - or dare say a word against him.

They stopped by the apartment of Kendra Hays, his bodyguard. She kept on her Zyloflex body armour while they had sex. "Shoot me with your stun gun," he said. "I want to know how it feels."

He showed no curiosity when he bumped into Elise again. "My portfolio is valueless and someone is mounting a credible threat on my life."

"You still smell of sex."

He hacked into her account and stole $735m. Losing it was the best way of resisting it."Why am I not interested in who wants to kill me?"

"Because no one else is," yawned Torval.

Anti-globalisation protesters sprayed paint on the car and a man set himself on fire.

"That's just not original," Eric said, while urinating.

The barbershop was closed, but Anthony came to him.

"Your hair is ratty."

"I knew it was time."

Elise walked through the door. "I've lost all your money," he said, as he straddled her.

"What do poets know of money? Our marriage is over."

Eric heard gunshots. He fired back.

"My name is Richard Sheets," said his assailant. "I hate you because you made me hate the baht."

Eric shot himself in the hand. "I've got an asymmetric prostate."

"So have I. But I've still got to shoot you."