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Case
fought
back
an
insane
urge
to
punch
himself
forward
and
get
his
fingers
around
the
figure
’
s
throat
,
just
above
the
ragged
knot
in
the
rusty
scarf
.
His
thumbs
deep
in
the
Finn
’
s
larynx
.
'
Well
,
good
luck
,
’
the
Finn
said
.
He
turned
,
hands
in
pockets
and
began
trudging
back
up
the
green
arch
.
'
Hey
,
asshole
,
’
the
Flatline
said
,
when
the
Finn
had
gone
a
dozen
paces
.
The
figure
paused
,
half
turned
.
'
What
about
me
?
What
about
my
payoff
?
’
'
You
’
ll
get
yours
,
’
it
said
.
'
What
’
s
that
mean
?
’
Case
asked
,
as
he
watched
the
narrow
tweed
back
recede
.
'
I
wanna
be
erased
,
’
the
construct
said
.
'
I
told
you
that
,
remember
?
’
Straylight
reminded
Case
of
deserted
early
morning
shopping
centers
he
’
d
known
as
a
teenager
,
low
-
density
places
where
the
small
hours
brought
a
fitful
stillness
,
a
kind
of
numb
expectancy
,
a
tension
that
left
you
watching
insects
swarm
around
caged
bulbs
above
the
entrance
of
darkened
shops
.
Fringe
places
,
just
past
the
borders
of
the
Sprawl
,
too
far
from
the
all
-
night
click
and
shudder
of
the
hot
core
.
There
was
that
same
sense
of
being
surrounded
by
the
sleeping
inhabitants
of
a
waking
world
he
had
no
interest
in
visiting
or
knowing
,
of
dull
business
temporarily
suspended
,
of
futility
and
repetition
soon
to
wake
again
.
Molly
had
slowed
now
,
either
knowing
that
she
was
nearing
her
goal
or
out
of
concern
for
her
leg
.
The
pain
was
starting
to
work
its
jagged
way
back
through
the
endorphins
,
and
he
wasn
’
t
sure
what
that
meant
.
She
didn
’
t
speak
,
kept
her
teeth
clenched
,
and
carefully
regulated
her
breathing
.
She
’
d
passed
many
things
that
Case
hadn
’
t
understood
,
but
his
curiosity
was
gone
.
There
had
been
a
room
filled
with
shelves
of
books
,
a
million
flat
leaves
of
yellowing
paper
pressed
between
bindings
of
cloth
or
leather
,
the
shelves
marked
at
intervals
by
labels
that
followed
a
code
of
letters
and
numbers
;
a
crowded
gallery
where
Case
had
stared
,
through
Molly
’
s
incurious
eyes
,
at
a
shattered
,
dust
-
stenciled
sheet
of
glass
,
a
thing
labeled
-
her
gaze
had
tracked
the
brass
plaque
automatically
-
'
La
marie
mise
nu
par
ses
clibataires
,
mme
.
’
She
’
d
reached
out
and
touched
this
,
her
artificial
nails
clicking
against
the
Lexan
sandwich
protecting
the
broken
glass
.
There
had
been
what
was
obviously
the
entrance
to
Tessier
-
Ashpool
’
s
cryogenic
compound
,
circular
doors
of
black
glass
trimmed
with
chrome
.
She
’
d
seen
no
one
since
the
two
Africans
and
their
cart
,
and
for
Case
they
’
d
taken
on
a
sort
of
imaginary
life
;
he
pictured
them
gliding
gently
through
the
halls
of
Straylight
,
their
smooth
dark
skulls
gleaming
,
nodding
,
while
the
one
still
sang
his
tired
little
song
.
And
none
of
this
was
anything
like
the
Villa
Straylight
he
would
have
expected
,
some
cross
between
Cath
’
s
fairy
tale
castle
and
a
half
-
remembered
childhood
fantasy
of
the
Yakuza
’
s
inner
sanctum
.
