“Right,” Bobby said. “What is this? I mean, if you could sort of explain..” He still couldn’t move The “window” showed a blue-gray video view of palm trees and old buildings. “How do you mean?” “This sort of drawing. And you. And that old picture. . “Hey, man, I paid a designer an arm and a leg to punch this up for me. This is my space, my construct. This is L.A., boy. People here don’t do anything without jacking. This is where I entertain! “Oh,” Bobby said, still baffled. “Your turn. Who’s back there, in that sleaze-ass dancehall?” “Jammer’s? Me, Jackie, Beauvoir, Jammer.” “And where were you headed when I grabbed you?” Bobby hesitated. “The Yakuza. Jammer has a code “What for?” The figure moved forward, an animated sen- suous brush-sketch. “Help.” “Shit You’re probably telling the truth . . “I am, I am, swear to God. “Well, you ain’t what I need, Bobby Zero. I been out cruising cyberspace, all up and down, trying to find out who killed my man. I thought it was Maas, because we were taking one of theirs for Hosaka, so I hunted up a spook team of theirs. First thing I saw was what they did to your mom- ma’s condo. Then I saw three of them drop in on a man they call the Finn, but those three never came back out . . “Finn killed `em,” Bobby said. “I saw `em. Dead.” “You did? Well, then, could be we do have things to talk about. After that, I watched the other three use that same launcher on a pimpmobile . . “That was Lucas,” he said. “But no sooner had they done it than a copter overfiew em and fried all three with a laser. You know anything about that?” “No.” “You think you can tell me your story. Bobby Zero? Make it quick!” “I was gonna do this run, see? And I’d got this icebreaker off Two-a-Day, from up the Projects, and I . .
When he finished, she was silent. The slinky cartoon figure stood by the window, as though she were studying the televi- sion trees. “I got an idea,” he ventured. “Maybe you can help us `No,” she said. “But maybe it’ll help you find out what you want . . “No. I just want to kill the motheifucker who killed Ramirez.” “But we’re trapped in there, they’re gonna kill us. It’s Mans, the people you were following around in the matrix! They hired a bunch of Kasuals and Gothicks “That’s not Maas,” she said “That’s a bunch of Euros over on Park Avenue. Ice on `em a mile deep.” Bobby took that in “They the ones in the copter, the ones killed the other Maas guys?” “No. I couldn’t get a fix on that copter, and they flew south. Lost `em. I have a hunch, though. . . Anyway, I’m sending you back. You want to try that Yak code, go ahead.” “But, lady, we need help . “No percentage in help, Bobby Zero,” she said, and then he was sitting in front of Jammer’s deck, the muscles in his neck and back aching. It took him a while before he could get his eyes to focus, so it was nearly a minute before he saw that there were strangers in the room. The man was tall, maybe taller than Lucas, but rangier, narrower at the hips. He wore a kind of baggy combat jacket that hung around him in folds, with giant pockets, and his chest was bare except for a horizontal black strap. His eyes looked bruised and feverish, and he held the biggest handgun Bobby had ever seen, a kind of distended revolver with some weird fixture molded under the barrel, a thing like a cobra’s head. Beside him, swaying, stood a girl who might have been Bobby’s age, with the same bruised eyesthough hers were darkand lank brown hair that needed to be washed. She wore a black sweatshirt, several sizes too large, and jeans. The man reached out with his left hand and steadied her. Bobby stared, then gaped as the memory hit him Girlvoice, brownhair, darkeyes, the ice eating into him, his teeth burring, her voice, the big thing leaning in . “Viv Ia Vy4~,” Jackie said, beside him, rapt, her hand gripping his shoulder hard, “the Virgin of Miracles. She’s come, Bobby. Danbala has sent her!” “You were under a while, kid,” the tall man said to Bobby. “What happened?”