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Catching
the
pimp
’
s
eye
,
Case
beckoned
him
to
the
bar
.
Zone
came
drifting
through
the
crowd
in
slow
motion
,
his
long
face
slack
and
placid
.
'
You
seen
Wage
tonight
,
Lonny
?
’
Zone
regarded
him
with
his
usual
calm
.
He
shook
his
head
.
'
You
sure
,
man
?
’
'
Maybe
in
the
Namban
.
Maybe
two
hours
ago
.
’
'
Got
some
joeboys
with
him
?
One
of
’
em
thin
,
dark
hair
,
maybe
a
black
jacket
?
’
'
No
,
’
Zone
said
at
last
,
his
smooth
forehead
creased
to
indicate
the
effort
it
cost
him
to
recall
so
much
pointless
detail
.
'
Big
boys
.
Graftees
.
’
Zone
’
s
eyes
showed
very
little
white
and
less
iris
;
under
the
drooping
lids
,
his
pupils
were
dilated
and
enormous
.
He
stared
into
Case
’
s
face
for
a
long
time
,
then
lowered
his
gaze
.
He
saw
the
bulge
of
the
steel
whip
.
'
Cobra
,
’
he
said
,
and
raised
an
eyebrow
.
'
You
wanna
fuck
somebody
up
?
’
'
See
you
,
Lonny
.
’
Case
left
the
bar
.
His
tail
was
back
.
He
was
sure
of
it
.
He
felt
a
stab
of
elation
,
the
octagons
and
adrenaline
mingling
with
something
else
.
You
’
re
enjoying
this
,
he
thought
;
you
’
re
crazy
.
Because
,
in
some
weird
and
very
approximate
way
,
it
was
like
a
run
in
the
matrix
.
Get
just
wasted
enough
,
find
yourself
in
some
desperate
but
strangely
arbitrary
kind
of
trouble
,
and
it
was
possible
to
see
Ninsei
as
a
field
of
data
,
the
way
the
matrix
had
once
reminded
him
of
proteins
linking
to
distinguish
cell
specialties
.
Then
you
could
throw
yourself
into
a
highspeed
drift
and
skid
,
totally
engaged
but
set
apart
from
it
all
,
and
all
around
you
the
dance
of
biz
,
information
interacting
,
data
made
flesh
in
the
mazes
of
the
black
market
.
.
.
