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'
Bonn
,
’
she
said
,
something
like
gentleness
in
her
voice
.
'
Quite
the
product
,
aren
’
t
you
,
Peter
?
But
you
had
to
be
.
Our
3Jane
,
she
’
s
too
jaded
now
to
open
the
back
door
for
just
any
petty
thief
.
So
Wintermute
dug
you
up
.
The
ultimate
taste
,
if
your
taste
runs
that
way
.
Demon
lover
.
Peter
.
’
She
shivered
.
'
But
you
talked
her
into
letting
me
in
.
Thanks
.
Now
we
’
re
gonna
party
.
’
And
then
she
was
walking
-
strolling
,
really
,
in
spite
of
the
pain
-
away
from
Riviera
’
s
childhood
She
drew
the
fletcher
from
its
holster
,
snapped
the
plastic
magazine
out
,
pocketed
that
,
and
replaced
it
with
another
.
She
hooked
her
thumb
in
the
neck
of
the
Modern
suit
and
ripped
it
open
to
the
crotch
with
a
single
gesture
,
her
thumb
blade
parting
the
tough
polycarbon
like
rotten
silk
.
She
freed
herself
from
the
arms
and
legs
,
the
shredded
remnants
disguising
themselves
as
they
fell
to
the
dark
false
sand
.
Case
noticed
the
music
then
.
A
music
he
didn
’
t
know
,
all
horns
and
piano
.
The
entrance
to
3Jane
’
s
world
had
no
door
.
It
was
a
ragged
five
-
meter
gash
in
the
tunnel
wall
,
uneven
stairs
leading
down
in
a
broad
shallow
curve
.
Faint
blue
light
,
moving
shadows
,
music
.
'
Case
,
’
she
said
,
and
paused
,
the
fletcher
in
her
right
hand
.
Then
she
raised
her
left
,
smiled
,
touched
her
open
palm
with
a
wet
tongue
tip
,
kissing
him
through
the
simstim
link
.
'
Gotta
go
.
’
Then
there
was
something
small
and
heavy
in
her
left
hand
,
her
thumb
against
a
tiny
stud
,
and
she
was
descending
.
She
missed
it
by
a
fraction
.
She
nearly
cut
it
,
but
not
quite
.
She
went
in
just
right
,
Case
thought
.
The
right
attitude
;
it
was
something
he
could
sense
,
something
he
could
have
seen
in
the
posture
of
another
cowboy
leaning
into
a
deck
,
fingers
flying
across
the
board
.
She
had
it
:
the
thing
,
the
moves
.
And
she
’
d
pulled
it
all
together
for
her
entrance
.
Pulled
it
together
around
the
pain
in
her
leg
and
marched
down
3Jane
’
s
stairs
like
she
owned
the
place
,
elbow
of
her
gun
arm
at
her
hip
,
forearm
up
,
wrist
relaxed
,
swaying
the
muzzle
of
the
fletcher
with
the
studied
nonchalance
of
a
Regency
duelist
.
It
was
a
performance
.
It
was
like
the
culmination
of
a
lifetime
’
s
observation
of
martial
arts
tapes
,
cheap
ones
,
the
kind
Case
had
grown
up
on
.
For
a
few
seconds
,
he
knew
,
she
was
every
bad
-
ass
hero
,
Sony
Mao
in
the
old
Shaw
videos
,
Mickey
Chiba
,
the
whole
lineage
back
to
Lee
and
Eastwood
.
She
was
walking
it
the
way
she
talked
it
.
Lady
3Jane
Marie
-
France
Tessier
-
Ashpool
had
carved
herself
a
low
country
flush
with
the
inner
surface
of
Straylight
’
s
hull
,
chopping
away
the
maze
of
walls
that
was
her
legacy
.
She
lived
in
a
single
room
so
broad
and
deep
that
its
far
reaches
were
lost
to
an
inverse
horizon
,
the
floor
hidden
by
the
curvature
of
the
spindle
.
The
ceiling
was
low
and
irregular
,
done
in
the
same
imitation
stone
that
walled
the
corridor
.
Here
and
there
across
the
floor
were
jagged
sections
of
wall
,
waist
-
high
reminders
of
the
labyrinth
.
