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Case
woke
from
a
dream
of
airports
,
of
Molly
’
s
dark
leathers
moving
ahead
of
him
through
the
concourses
of
Narita
,
Schipol
,
Orly
.
.
.
He
watched
himself
buy
a
flat
plastic
flask
of
Danish
vodka
at
some
kiosk
,
an
hour
before
dawn
.
Somewhere
down
in
the
Sprawl
’
s
ferro
-
concrete
roots
,
a
train
drove
a
column
of
stale
air
through
a
tunnel
.
The
train
itself
was
silent
,
gliding
over
its
induction
cushion
,
but
displaced
air
made
the
tunnel
sing
,
bass
down
into
subsonics
.
Vibration
reached
the
room
where
he
lay
and
caused
dust
to
rise
from
the
cracks
in
the
dessicated
parquet
floor
.
Opening
his
eyes
,
he
saw
Molly
,
naked
and
just
out
of
reach
across
an
expanse
of
very
new
pink
temperfoam
.
Overhead
,
sunlight
filtered
through
the
soot
-
stained
grid
of
a
skylight
.
One
half
-
meter
square
of
glass
had
been
replaced
with
chipboard
,
a
fat
gray
cable
emerging
there
to
dangle
within
a
few
centimeters
of
the
floor
.
He
lay
on
his
side
and
watched
her
breathe
,
her
breasts
,
the
sweep
of
a
flank
defined
with
the
functional
elegance
of
a
war
plane
’
s
fusilage
.
Her
body
was
spare
,
neat
,
the
muscles
like
a
dancer
’
s
.
The
room
was
large
.
He
sat
up
.
The
room
was
empty
,
aside
from
the
wide
pink
bedslab
and
two
nylon
bags
,
new
and
identical
,
that
lay
beside
it
.
Blank
walls
,
no
windows
,
a
single
white
-
painted
steel
firedoor
.
The
walls
were
coated
with
countless
layers
of
white
latex
paint
.
Factory
space
.
He
knew
this
kind
of
room
,
this
kind
of
building
;
the
tenants
would
operate
in
the
interzone
where
art
wasn
’
t
quite
crime
,
crime
not
quite
art
.
He
was
home
.
He
swung
his
feet
to
the
floor
.
It
was
made
of
little
blocks
of
wood
,
some
missing
,
others
loose
.
His
head
ached
.
He
remembered
Amsterdam
,
another
room
,
in
the
Old
City
section
of
the
Centrum
,
buildings
centuries
old
.
Molly
back
from
the
canal
’
s
edge
with
orange
juice
and
eggs
.
Armitage
off
on
some
cryptic
foray
,
the
two
of
them
walking
alone
past
Dam
Square
to
a
bar
she
knew
on
a
Damrak
thoroughfare
.
Paris
was
a
blurred
dream
.
Shopping
.
She
’
d
taken
him
shopping
.
He
stood
,
pulling
on
a
wrinkled
pair
of
new
black
jeans
that
lay
at
his
feet
,
and
knelt
beside
the
bags
.
The
first
one
he
opened
was
Molly
’
s
:
neatly
folded
clothing
and
small
expensive
-
looking
gadgets
.
The
second
was
stuffed
with
things
he
didn
’
t
remember
buying
:
books
,
tapes
,
a
simstim
deck
,
clothing
with
French
and
Italian
labels
.
Beneath
a
green
t
-
shirt
,
he
discovered
a
flat
,
origami
-
wrapped
package
,
recycled
Japanese
paper
.
The
paper
tore
when
he
picked
it
up
;
a
bright
nine
-
pointed
star
fell
-
to
stick
upright
in
a
crack
in
the
parquet
.
