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'
Hey
,
Case
.
’
The
Flatline
spoke
through
the
Hosaka
’
s
voice
chip
,
the
carefully
engineered
accent
lost
entirely
.
'
Dix
,
you
’
re
about
to
punch
your
way
in
here
and
get
something
for
me
.
You
can
be
as
blunt
as
you
want
.
Molly
’
s
in
here
somewhere
and
I
wanna
know
where
.
I
’
m
in
335W
,
the
Intercontinental
.
She
was
registered
here
too
,
but
I
don
’
t
know
what
name
she
was
using
.
Ride
in
on
this
phone
and
do
their
records
for
me
.
’
'
No
sooner
said
,
’
the
Flatline
said
.
Case
heard
the
white
sound
of
the
invasion
.
He
smiled
.
'
Done
.
Rose
Kolodny
.
Checked
out
.
Take
me
a
few
minutes
to
screw
their
security
net
deep
enough
to
get
a
fix
.
’
'
Go
.
’
The
phone
whined
and
clicked
with
the
construct
’
s
efforts
.
Case
carried
it
back
into
the
room
and
put
the
receiver
face
up
on
the
temperfoam
.
He
went
into
the
bathroom
and
brushed
his
teeth
.
As
he
was
stepping
back
out
,
the
monitor
on
the
room
’
s
Braun
audiovisual
complex
lit
up
.
A
Japanese
pop
star
reclining
against
metallic
cushions
.
An
unseen
interviewer
asked
a
question
in
German
.
Case
stared
.
The
screen
jumped
with
jags
of
blue
interference
.
'
Case
,
baby
,
you
lose
your
mind
,
man
?
’
The
voice
was
slow
,
familiar
.
The
glass
wall
of
the
balcony
clicked
in
with
its
view
of
Desiderata
,
but
the
street
scene
blurred
,
twisted
,
became
the
interior
of
the
Jarre
de
Th
,
Chiba
,
empty
,
red
neon
replicated
to
scratched
infinity
in
the
mirrored
walls
.
Lonny
Zone
stepped
forward
,
tall
and
cadaverous
,
moving
with
the
slow
undersea
grace
of
his
addiction
.
He
stood
alone
among
the
square
tables
,
his
hands
in
the
pockets
of
his
gray
sharkskin
slacks
.
'
Really
,
man
,
you
’
re
lookin
’
very
scattered
.
’
The
voice
came
from
the
Braun
’
s
speakers
.
'
Wintermute
,
’
Case
said
.
