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He
still
had
his
anger
.
That
was
like
being
rolled
in
some
alley
and
waking
to
discover
your
wallet
still
in
your
pocket
,
untouched
.
He
warmed
himself
with
it
,
unable
to
give
it
a
name
or
an
object
.
He
rode
the
elevator
down
to
his
level
,
fumbling
in
his
pocket
for
the
Freeside
credit
chip
that
served
as
his
key
.
Sleep
was
becoming
real
,
was
something
he
might
do
.
To
lie
down
on
the
sand
-
colored
temperfoam
and
find
the
blankness
again
.
They
were
waiting
there
,
the
three
of
them
,
their
perfect
white
sportsclothes
and
stenciled
tans
setting
off
the
handwoven
organic
chic
of
the
furniture
.
The
girl
sat
on
a
wicker
sofa
,
an
automatic
pistol
beside
her
on
the
leaf
-
patterned
print
of
the
cushion
.
'
Turing
,
’
she
said
.
'
You
are
under
arrest
.
’
'
Your
name
is
Henry
Dorsett
Case
.
’
She
recited
the
year
and
place
of
his
birth
,
his
BAMA
Single
Identification
Number
,
and
a
string
of
names
he
gradually
recognized
as
aliases
from
his
past
.
'
You
been
here
awhile
?
’
He
saw
the
contents
of
his
bag
spread
out
across
the
bed
,
unwashed
clothing
sorted
by
type
.
The
shuriken
lay
by
itself
,
between
jeans
and
underwear
,
on
the
sand
-
tinted
temperfoam
.
'
Where
is
Kolodny
?
’
The
two
men
sat
side
by
side
on
the
couch
,
their
arms
crossed
over
tanned
chests
,
identical
gold
chains
slung
around
their
necks
.
Case
peered
at
them
and
saw
that
their
youth
was
counterfeit
,
marked
by
a
certain
telltale
corrugation
at
the
knuckles
,
something
the
surgeons
were
unable
to
erase
.
'
Who
’
s
Kolodny
?
’
'
That
was
the
name
in
the
register
.
Where
is
she
?
’
'
I
dunno
,
’
he
said
,
crossing
to
the
bar
and
pouring
himself
a
glass
of
mineral
water
.
'
She
took
off
.
’
