Idoru

�Was Rydell happy?� Yamazaki asked,

It seemed a strange question, to Laney, but then he�d remembered Rydell mentioning someone Japanese, someone he�d known in San Francisco, and that, of course, had been Yamazaki.

�Well,� Laney said, �he didn�t strike me as desperately unhappy, but there was something sort of down about him. You could say that. I mean, I don�t really know him well at all.�

�It is too bad,� Yamazaki said. �Rydell is a brave man.�

�How about you, Laney,� Blackwell said, �you think of yourself as a brave man?� The wormlike scar that bisected his eyebrow writhed into a new degree of concentration.

�No,� Laney said, �I don�t.�

�But you went up against Slitscan, didn�t you, because of what they did to the girl? You had a job, you had food, you had a place to sleep. You got all that from Slitscan, but they did the girl, so you opted to do �em back. Is that right?�

�Nothing�s ever that simple,� Laney said.

When Blackwell spoke, Laney was unexpectedly aware of another sort of intelligence, something the man must ordinarily conceal. �No,� Blackwell said, almost gently, �it fucking well isn�t, is it?� One large, pinkly jigsawed hand, like some clumsy animal in its own right, began to root in the taut breast pocket of Blackwell�s micropore. Producing a small, gray, metallic object that he placed on the bar.

�Now that�s a nail,� Blackwell said, �galvanized, one-and-a-half-inch, roofing, I�ve nailed men�s hands to bars like this, with nails like that. And some of them were right bastards.� There was nothing at all of threat in Blackwell�s voice. �And some of those, you nail their one hand, their other comes up with a razor, or a pair of needle-nose pliers.� Blackwell�s forefinger absently found an angry-looking scar beneath his right eye, as though something had entered there and been deflected along the cheekbone. �To have a go, right?�

�Pliers?�

�Bastards,� Blackwell said. �You have to kill �em, then, Now that�s one kind of �brave,� Laney. What I mean is, how�s that so different from what you tried to do to Slitscan?�

�I just didn�t want them to let it drop. To let her� settle to the bottom. Be forgotten. I didn�t really care how badly Slitscan got hurt, or even if they were damaged or not. I wasn�t thinking of revenge, as much as of a way of� keeping her alive?�

�There�s other men, you nail their hand to a table, they�ll sit there and look at you. That�s your true hard man, Laney. Do you think you�re one of those?�

Laney looked from Blackwell to the empty bourbon glass, back to Blackwell; the bartender moved, as if to refill it, but Laney covered it with his hand. �If you nail my hand to the bar, Blackwell,� and here he spread his other hand, flat, palm down, on the dark wood, the drink-ringed varnish, �I�ll scream, okay? I don�t know what anyof this is about. You might be crazy. But what I most definitely am not is anybody�s idea of a hero. I�m not now, and I wasn�t back there in L.A.�

Blackwell and Yamazaki exchanged glances. Blackwell pursed his lips, gave a tiny nod. �Good on you then,� he said. �I think you just might be right for the job.�

�No job,� Laney said, but let the bartender pour him a second bourbon. �I don�t want to hear about any job at all, not until I know who�s hiring me.�

�I�m chief of security for Lo/Rez,� Blackwell said, �and I owe that silly bastard my life. The last five of which I�d�ve passed in the punitive bowels of the State of fucking Victoria. If it hadn�t been for him. Though I�d�ve topped myself first, no fear.�

�The band? You�re security for them?�

�Rydell spoke well of you, Mr. Laney.� Yamazaki�s neck bobbed in the collar of his plaid shirt,

�I don�t know Rydell,� Laney said. �He was just the night watchman at a hotel I couldn�t afford.�

�Rydell has a good sense of people, I think,� Yamazaki said.

To Blackwelclass="underline" �Lo/Rez? They�re in trouble?�

�Rez,� Blackwell said. �He says he�s going to marry this Jap twist doesn�t fucking exist! And he knowsshe doesn�t, and says we�ve no fucking imagination! Now hear me,� and Blackwell produced, from some unspecific region of his clothing, a mirror-polished rectangle with a round hole through its uppermost, leading corner. Something not much larger than a cashcard, to see it in his big hand. �Someone�s gotto our boy, hear? Got tohim. Don�t know how, don�t know who. Though personally myself I�d bet on the fucking Kombinat. Those Russ bastards, But you, my friend, you�re going to do your nodal thing for us, on our Rez, and you are going to find flicking out. Who.� And the rectangle came down with a concise little thunk, to be left standing, crosswise to the counter�s grain, and Laney saw that it was a very small meat cleaver, with round steel rivets through its tidy rosewood handle.

�And when you do,� Blackwell said, �we shall sort them well and fucking out.�

10. Whiskey Clone

Eddie�s club was way up in something like an office building. Chia didn�t think there were music clubs on the upper floors of buildings like that in Seattle, but she wasn�t sure. She�d fallen asleep in the Graceland, and only woke up as Eddie was driving into a garage entrance, and then up into something vaguely like a Ferris wheel, or the cylinder of an old-fashioned revolver, except the bullets were cars. She watched out the windows as it swung them up and over, to stop at the top, where Eddie drove forward into a parking garage that might�ve been anywhere, except the cars were all big and black, though none as big as the Graceland.

�Come on up with us and freshen up, honey,� Maryalice said. �You look wrecked.�

�I have to port,� Chia said. �Find my friend I�m staying with��

�Easy enough,� Maryalice said, sliding across the velour and opening the door. Eddie got out the driver�s side, taking the bag with the Nissan County sticker with him. He still didn�t look very happy. Chia took her bag with her and followed Maryalice. They all got into an elevator. Eddie pressed his palm against a hand-shaped outline on the wall and said something in Japanese. The elevator said something back, then the door closed and they were going up. Fast, it felt like, but they just kept going.

Being in the elevator didn�t seem to be improving Eddie�s mood.

He had to stand right up close to Maryalice, and Chia could see a little muscle working, in the hinge of his jaw, as he looked at her. Maryalice just looked right back at him.

�You oughta lighten up,� Maryalice said. �It�s done.�

The little muscle went into overdrive. �That was not the deal,� he said, finally. �That was not the arrangement,�

Maryalice lifted an eyebrow. �You used to appreciate a little innovation.�

Eddie glanced from Maryalice to Chia, then, quick, back to Maryalice. �You call that an innovation?�

�You used to have a sense of humor, too,� Maryalice said, as the elevator stopped and the door slid open. Eddie glared, then stepped out, Chia and Maryalice following. �Never mind him,� Maryalice said. �Just how he gets, sometimes.�

Chia wasn�t sure what she�d expected, but this definitely wasn�t it. A messy room jammed with shipping cartons, and a bank of security monitors. The low ceiling was made of those fibery tiles that were hung on little metal rails; about half of them were missing, with wires and cables looping down from dusty-looking shadow. There were a couple of small desk lamps, one of them illuminating a stack of used instant-noodle containers and a black coffee mug filled with white plastic spoons. A Japanese man in a black meshback that said �Whiskey Clone� across the front was sitting in a swivel chair in front of the monitors, pouring himself a hot drink out of a big thermos with pink flowers on the side.

�Yo, Calvin,� Maryalice said, or that was what it sounded like.

�Hey,� the man said.

�Calvin�s from Tacoma,� Maryalice said, as Chia watched Eddie, still carrying the suitcase, march straight through the room, through a door, and out of sight.