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The
bolts
worked
.
'
Slowly
,
Case
,
’
said
the
voice
.
'
Turn
on
the
works
,
Julie
,
all
the
stuff
in
the
desk
,
’
Case
said
,
taking
his
place
in
the
swivel
chair
.
'
It
’
s
on
all
the
time
,
’
Deane
said
mildly
,
taking
a
gun
from
behind
the
exposed
works
of
his
old
mechanical
typewriter
and
aiming
it
carefully
at
Case
.
It
was
a
belly
gun
,
a
magnum
revolver
with
the
barrel
sawn
down
to
a
nub
.
The
front
of
the
trigger
guard
had
been
cut
away
and
the
grips
wrapped
with
what
looked
like
old
masking
tape
.
Case
thought
it
looked
very
strange
in
Dean
’
s
manicured
pink
hands
.
'
Just
taking
care
,
you
understand
.
Nothing
personal
.
Now
tell
me
what
you
want
.
’
'
I
need
a
history
lesson
,
Julie
.
And
a
go
-
to
on
somebody
.
’
'
What
’
s
moving
,
old
son
?
’
Deane
’
s
shirt
was
candy
-
striped
cotton
,
the
collar
white
and
rigid
,
like
porcelain
.
'
Me
,
Julie
.
I
’
m
leaving
.
Gone
.
But
do
me
the
favor
,
okay
?
’
'
Go
-
to
on
whom
,
old
son
?
’
'
Gaijin
name
of
Armitage
,
suite
in
the
Hilton
.
’
Deane
put
the
pistol
down
.
'
Sit
still
,
Case
.
’
He
tapped
something
out
on
a
lap
terminal
.
'
It
seems
as
though
you
know
as
much
as
my
net
does
,
Case
.
This
gentleman
seems
to
have
a
temporary
arrangement
with
the
Yakuza
,
and
the
sons
of
the
neon
chrysanthemum
have
ways
of
screening
their
allies
from
the
likes
of
me
.
I
wouldn
’
t
have
it
any
other
way
.
Now
,
history
.
You
said
history
.
’
He
picked
up
the
gun
again
,
but
didn
’
t
point
it
directly
at
Case
.
'
What
sort
of
history
?
’
'
The
war
.
’
