“And he came? Rez?”
“Absolutely. An hour later, there he is. Smiling, shaking hands, signing things if you asked him to, though there wasn’t too burning a demand, actually. Four women with him, two other men if you didn’t count the minder. Very nice black suit. Yohji. Bit the worse for wear. Rez, I mean. Been out to dinner, it looked like. Had a few drinks with it. Certain amount of laughter, if you follow me.’ He turned and said something to one of the workmen, who wore shoes like two-toed black leather socks.
Chia, who had no idea what Monkey Boxing had actually been about, imagined Rez at a table with some other people, behind a purple rope, and in the foreground a crowd of Japanese people doing whatever Japanese people did at a club like that. Dancing?
“Then our boy gets up, he’s going to the toilet. The big minder makes as if he’s getting up to go too, but our boy waves him back. Big laugh from the table, big minder not too happy. Two of the women start to get up, like they’re going with him; he’ll have none of it, waves ’em back, more laughter. Not that anyone else was paying him that much attention, I was going into the booth in five minutes, with a set of extremely raw North African; had to judge the crowd, get
on it with them, know just when to drop it in. But there he went, 0
2 143 -right through them, and only one or two even noticed, and they
didn’t stop dancing.’
What kind of club was it, where nobody would stop dancing for Rez?
“So I was thinking about my set, the order of it, and suddenly he’s right in front of me. Big grin. Eyes funny, though I wouldn’t swear it was anything he’d done in the toilet-if you know what I mean.”
Chia nodded her head. What did he mean?
“And would I mind, he said, hand on my shoulder, if he just spoke briefly to the crowd? Said he’d been thinking about something for a long time, and now he’d made up his mind and he wanted to tell people. And the big minder just materialized there, wanting to know was there any problem? None at all, Rez says, giving my shoulder a squeeze, but he was just going to have a word with the crowd.”
Chia looked at Jun’s shoulders, wondering which one had been squeezed by Rca’s actual hand. “So he did,” Jun said.
“But what did he say?” Chia asked.
“A load of bollocks, dear. Evolution and technology and passion; man’s need to find beauty in the emerging order; his own burning need to get his end in with some software dolly wank toy. Balls, Utter.” He pushed his headband up with his thumb, but it fell back. “And because he did that, opened his mouth up himy club, Lo slash bloody Rez bought my club. Bought me as well, and I’ve signed agreements that I won’t talk to any of you about any of that. And now if you and your charming friend will excuse me, darling, I have work to do.” 144 William Gibson There was a man on stilts at the intersection nearest the hotel. He wore a hooded white paper suit, agas mask, and a pair of rectangular sign-boards. Messages scrolled down the boards in Japanese as he shifted his weight to maintain balance. Streams of pedestrian traffic flowed around and past him.
“What’s that?” Laney asked, indicating the man on stilts.
“A sect,” Arleigh McCrae said. “New Logic.’ They say the world will end when the combined weight of all the human nervous tissue on the planet reaches a specific figure.”
A very long multi-digit number went scrolling down.
“Is that it?” Laney asked.
“No,” she said, “that’s their latest estimate of the current total weight.” She’d gone back to her room for the black coat she now wore, leaving Laney to change into clean socks, underwear, a blue shirt. He didn’t have a tie, so he’d buttoned the shirt at the collar and put his jacket back on. He’d wondered if everyone who worked for Lo/Rez stayed in that same hotel.