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A
crash
,
from
the
far
end
of
the
corridor
.
A
man
’
s
voice
,
shouting
something
in
Japanese
.
A
scream
,
shrill
terror
.
Another
crash
.
And
footsteps
,
unhurried
,
coming
closer
.
Passing
his
closed
door
.
Pausing
for
the
space
of
three
rapid
beats
of
his
heart
.
And
returning
.
One
,
two
,
three
.
A
bootheel
scraped
the
matting
.
The
last
of
his
octagon
-
induced
bravado
collapsed
.
He
snapped
the
cobra
into
its
handle
and
scrambled
for
the
window
,
blind
with
fear
,
his
nerves
screaming
.
He
was
up
,
out
,
and
falling
,
all
before
he
was
conscious
of
what
he
’
d
done
.
The
impact
with
pavement
drove
dull
rods
of
pain
through
his
shins
.
A
narrow
wedge
of
light
from
a
half
-
open
service
hatch
framed
a
heap
of
discarded
fiberoptics
and
the
chassis
of
a
junked
console
.
He
’
d
fallen
face
forward
on
a
slab
of
soggy
chipboard
;
he
rolled
over
,
into
the
shadow
of
the
console
.
The
cubicle
’
s
window
was
a
square
of
faint
light
.
The
alarm
still
oscillated
,
louder
here
,
the
rear
wall
dulling
the
roar
of
the
games
.
A
head
appeared
,
framed
in
the
window
,
backlit
by
the
fluorescents
in
the
corridor
,
then
vanished
.
It
returned
,
but
he
still
couldn
’
t
read
the
features
.
Glint
of
silver
across
the
eyes
.
'
Shit
,
’
someone
said
,
a
woman
,
in
the
accent
of
the
northern
Sprawl
.
The
head
was
gone
.
Case
lay
under
the
console
for
a
long
count
of
twenty
,
then
stood
up
.
The
steel
cobra
was
still
in
his
hand
,
and
it
took
him
a
few
seconds
to
remember
what
it
was
.
He
limped
away
down
the
alley
,
nursing
his
left
ankle
.
Shin
’
s
pistol
was
a
fifty
-
year
-
old
Vietnamese
imitation
of
a
South
American
copy
of
a
Walther
PPK
,
double
-
action
on
the
first
shot
,
with
a
very
rough
pull
.
It
was
chambered
for
.
22
long
rifle
,
and
Case
would
’
ve
preferred
lead
azide
explosives
to
the
simple
Chinese
hollowpoints
Shin
had
sold
him
.
Still
,
it
was
a
handgun
and
nine
rounds
of
ammunition
,
and
as
he
made
his
way
down
Shiga
from
the
sushi
stall
he
cradled
it
in
his
jacket
pocket
.
The
grips
were
bright
red
plastic
molded
in
a
raised
dragon
motif
,
something
to
run
your
thumb
across
in
the
dark
.
He
’
d
consigned
the
cobra
to
a
dump
canister
on
Ninsei
and
dry
-
swallowed
another
octagon
.
The
pill
lit
his
circuits
and
he
rode
the
rush
down
Shiga
to
Ninsei
,
then
over
to
Baiitsu
.
His
tail
,
he
’
d
decided
,
was
gone
,
and
that
was
fine
.
He
had
calls
to
make
,
biz
to
transact
,
and
it
wouldn
’
t
wait
.
A
block
down
Baiitsu
,
toward
the
port
,
stood
a
featureless
ten
-
story
office
building
in
ugly
yellow
brick
.
Its
windows
were
dark
now
,
but
a
faint
glow
from
the
roof
was
visible
if
you
craned
your
neck
.
An
unlit
neon
sign
near
the
main
entrance
offered
CHEAP
HOTEL
under
a
cluster
of
ideograms
.
If
the
place
had
another
name
,
Case
didn
’
t
know
it
;
it
was
always
referred
to
as
Cheap
Hotel
.
You
reached
it
through
an
alley
off
Baiitsu
,
where
an
elevator
waited
at
the
foot
of
a
transparent
shaft
.
The
elevator
,
like
Cheap
Hotel
,
was
an
afterthought
,
lashed
to
the
building
with
bamboo
and
epoxy
.
Case
climbed
into
the
plastic
cage
and
used
his
key
,
an
unmarked
length
of
rigid
magnetic
tape
.
