“I don't suppose her father was an inventor for the U.S. Army?"

“Boy, she's a queer bitch. She tell you that?"

Paul ignored the question. “So how did this ‘Lana’ entangle herself in the Man's business?"

Leah wasn't going to be tricked into spilling the goods that easy. She poured Paul another Cuervo. “To your health."

“This is silly,” Paul said, frowning. “I have legendary tolerance. You could confess the world's secrets and have to start making shit up before I even feel a buzz."

“Then there's no problem, right?"

Paul drained it. Despite his bravado, it hit him deep. Hell, I could feel it. The lobby walls turned pale for a second, on second thought my seat felt like it was going to crash through the wall wallflowersincollege punch bowl I was afraid to make a single move. BBBBBBut it held… the only thing I ever wanted from life was a woman to love me like a man…

Holy shit, I thought. It's happening. The walls are breaking down.

“Good boy. All I know I learned from Ray. I've come to trust him over the last seven months."

“Grrranted."

“Well, Ray was proving himself to the Man, doing jobs here and there, mostly as muscle to scare distributors behind on their payments."

“Yeah. We all start out that way."

“But you never ran into Ray, did you?"

“I was top floor. I never met any of the Man's little people."

“Which makes it all the more odd that Ray received the contract to kill you."

Paul's eyes narrowed. “Kill me?"

Again, I was forced to remind Paul, via brain lobby mike: She's talking about Brad Larsen. She thinks you're Larsen. But a bit of static cut into the message: Talking about my g-g-g-g-generation… You are Larsen…

Leah smiled prettily and tipped the Cuervo into the drinking glass once again.

Paul sighed; tossed it back. A couple of phones at the front desk started to ring; pissed-off tenants probably complaining about a sudden lack of basic services. Amazing how people can forget where they are sometimes.

“Yeah-you. I mean, here was Ray, a nobody, handed half a million bucks to whack one of the Man's top turncoats. Even Ray knew it sounded odd. On one hand, it sounded like the deal of a lifetime. On the other, it sounded like a way to take out the uppity freshmen. A reverse hit, and the beauty is, nobody pays a dime."

“Ray shows up, and I'm sure to kill him."

“Correct. Ray decides to take along his girlfriend-one Lana Lewalski. Right there should have been the clue: This guy ain't pro yet. You never bring an outsider along for any job, let alone a career-maker. But Ray had it all planned out: drive out, spend a few days studying up, make the hit, split, have the rest of the payment wired out to him, and spend a few days kicking around the East Coast. Lana, apparently, wanted to be in Philadelphia for the Bicentennial."

Major click. Even Paul shuddered, and it wasn't from the tequila. It was the same damn thing Susannah had told Gard.

“What'd he tell her? It'd be a great family vacation?"

“Well, it could have been,” Susannah said, “except that the happy couple's first stop was to an abortion clinic. Talk about killing two birds with one stone."

Paul didn't laugh. “How did you get involved in Ray's mess? You find yourself feeling bad for the sorry prick?"

Leah took a small sip of her beer, then raised her fingers like a peace sign. “That's two questions."

Paul swallowed a sigh. Leah poured him more tequila. Up to the brim.

“Go ahead. Trust me-you're going to need it."

Take it easy Paul, I tried to warn him. But it was no use.

It took three whole gulps to finish it. Now that wasn't fair-it was clearly more than two ordinary shots. I wished I could pop out of Paul's head and call a time out.

The viewing screen started to wobble at this point, and the audio crackled in spots. I was confident it would all hold up at some basic level; after all, this whole framework I'm in no hurry to disgrace myself in front of your father had been constructed by my own brain power, and I was Call a seven, c'mon goddamnit, call a seven or I'll start worshipping the devil, let's go the equivalent of a public utility. It was the individual users I was worried about. The last thing I needed was grapes never taste right in this friggin’ fridge. I like ‘em cold and crisp. In this damn thing, they might as well be a mob of angry and confused souls stomping down here, demanding to know why entire pieces of their rooms had suddenly swirled away the best one is the one about the bookworm who works in a bank, and seals himself in a vault right before the big one hits like a cigarette butt in a flushed toilet. That's how alcohol fucked with the brain. How else can I explain it? But oh, God, GOD, GOD! The voices!

“I was thinking you'd be able to tell me,” Leah said.

“I tollld you,” Paul said. “I doan remember a damn thing."

“Oh, yes. That's right. Let me give you Ray's version, then. He tracks you down easily enough-the Man bought the address from a Wit Protec flunky. Woody Creek, Illinois is where they stashed you. You remember that much?"

“Yeah,” Paul lied.

“After a couple of days of recon, Ray decides to make the push. He goes right up and knocks on your door. Talk about brass ones, huh? Figured you'd expect every other approach except that one. You open the door, one trigger pull, and it's all over."

Paul nodded. I think, mostly to avoid Leah hearing the slur in his speech.

“Only, the door opens, and it's not you. It's some woman Ray's never seen before. You remember getting married, Paul?"

“Uh-uh."

“Well, that's one mystery solved. She was a hooker."

“Must've been."

God, please don't let Brad Larsen ever read a transcript of this conversation. What if his thoughts were leaking through? And what if it worked both ways? I stumbled forward and, after some grappling around, found the lobby mike. Paul, listen to me. You have got to Kill the tramp where she sits. Go ahead. Stab her in the eye with the fork on the table find a way to stop drinking.

Damn these voices!

“Anyway, Ray freaked out and fired anyway, and nailed the bitch in the throat. Which gave you enough time to charge him. Ray couldn't get a shot; you two tumbled around and somehow scuffled around on the back porch. You took a pistol from Ray's belt and plugged him in the leg."

“Hmmm.” Paul's eyes lingered on the tequila bottle, kind of a like a condemned man gazing at the guillotine.

“You thirsty? All this macho talk make your throat dry?"

Paul shook his head.

I grabbed the lobby mike and tried to pep-talk him through this. Hang on, buddy. You're doing nothing about the situation. Stab her in the eye stab her in the eye stab her in the eye good. We've almost got what we need to know.

“I'm hanginnn on,” Paul said, out loud.

Oh no! What the hell was he doing?

“All thisssounds familiar to me,” Paul said.

Be quiet, Paul! She put a bullet in her tits put a bullet in her tits can hear you!

“Oh, is it all coming back to you?” Leah said, one eyebrow tilted to heaven. “I thought it might. Maybe you'd like to start explaining some things to me, then."

“I know who you are,” Paul blurted, slur gone.

“Introductions have been well established, I think,” Leah said.

Paul? What the hell are you doing?

“It's nnnot me,” Paul said like he was speaking underwater.

Then, in a voice as crisp and vibrant as a new day: “No, you don't know me, Leah Farrell. I came after After. But I know you. And you can rest assured I'm going to destroy you for helping the man who killed my wife."

Oh boy. Clearly, we had another soul speaking through our physical body. It was easy to guess who. But how? And from where? And what the hell was he doing, scotching the very investigation he hired me to conduct?