“Bitch,” he said to the rose tint over Shiga. Down on Ninsei the holograms were vanishing like ghosts, and most of the neon was already cold and dead. He sipped thick black coffee from a street vendor’s foam thimble and watched the sun come up. “You fly away, honey. Towns like this are for people who like the way down.” But that wasn’t it, really, and he was finding it increasingly hard to maintain the sense of betrayal. She just wanted a ticket home, and the RAM in his Hitachi would buy it for her, if she could find the right fence. And that business with the fifty; she’d almost turned it down, knowing she was about to rip him for the rest of what he had. When he climbed out of the elevator, the same boy was on the desk. Different textbook. “Good buddy,” Case called across the plastic turf, “you don’t need to tell me. I know already. Pretty lady came to visit, said she had my key. Nice little tip for you, say fifty New ones?” The boy put down his book. “Woman,” Case said, and drew a line across his forehead with his thumb. “Silk.” He smiled broadly. The boy smiled back, nodded. “Thanks, ass hole,” Case said. On the catwalk, he had trouble with the lock. She’d messed it up somehow when she’d fiddled it, he thought. Beginner. He knew where to rent a black box that would open anything in Cheap Hotel. Fluorescents came on as he crawled in. “Close the hatch real slow, friend. You still got that Saturday night special you rented from the waiter?” She sat with her back to the wall, at the far end of the coffin. She had her knees up, resting her wrists on them, the pepper box muzzle of a flechette pistol emerged from her hands. “That you in the arcade?” He pulled the hatch down. “Where’s Linda?” “Hit that latch switch.” He did. “That your girl? Linda?” He nodded. “She’s gone. Took your Hitachi. Real nervous kid. What about the gun, man?” She wore mirrored glasses. Her clothes were black, the heels of black boots deep in the temper foam. “I took it back to Shin, got my deposit. Sold his bullets back to him for half what I paid. You want the money?” “No.” “Want some dry ice? All I got, right now.” “What got into you tonight? Why’d you pull that scene at the arcade? I had to mess up this rentacop came after me with nun chucks. ” “Linda said you were gonna kill me.” “Linda said? I never saw her before I came up here.” “You aren’t with Wage?” She shook her head. He realized that the glasses were surgically inset, sealing her sockets. The silver lenses seemed to grow from smooth pale skin above her cheekbones, framed by dark hair cut in a rough shag. The fingers curled around the fletcher were slender, white, tipped with polished burgundy. The nails looked artificial. “I think you screwed up, Case. I showed up and you just fit me right into your reality picture.” “So what do you want, lady?” He sagged back against the hatch. “You. One live body, brains still somewhat intact. Molly, Case. My name’s Molly. I’m collecting you for the man I work for. Just wants to talk, is all. Nobody wants to hurt you ” “That’s good.” “‘Cept I do hurt people sometimes, Case. I guess it’s just the way I’m wired.” She wore tight black glove leather jeans and a bulky black jacket cut from some matte fabric that seemed to absorb light. “If I put this dart gun away, will you be easy, Case? You look like you like to take stupid chances.” “Hey, I’m very easy. I’m a pushover, no problem.” “That’s fine, man.” The fletcher vanished into the black jacket. “Because you try to fuck around with me, you’ll be taking one of the stupidest chances of your whole life.” She held out her hands, palms up, the white fingers slightly spread, and with a barely audible click, ten double-edged, four centimeter scalpel blades slid from their housings beneath the burgundy nails. She smiled. The blades slowly withdrew.