14.01 Neuromancer by William Gibson

Author:William Gibson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Information superhighway, Computer hackers, Nervous system, High Tech, Fiction, Science Fiction, Business intelligence, Nervous system - Wounds and injuries, Japan, General, Conspiracies
ISBN: 9780441007462
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2000-07-01T07:18:21+00:00

Maelcum answered on the fifth tone. “Yo?”

“Case. You got a modem, Maelcum?”

“Yo. On th’ navigation comp, ya know.”

“Can you get it off for me, man? Put it on my Hosaka. Then turn my deck on. It’s the stud with the ridges on it.”

“How you doin’ in there, mon?”

“Well, I need some help.”

“Movin’, mon. I get th’ modem.”

Case listened to faint static while Maelcum attached the simple phone link. “Ice this,” he told the Hosaka, when he heard it beep.

“You are speaking from a heavily monitored location,” the computer advised primly.

“Fuck it,” he said. “Forget the ice. No ice. Access the construct. Dixie?”

“Hey, Case.” The Flatline spoke through the Hosaka’s voice chip, the carefully engineered accent lost entirely.

“Dix, you’re about to punch your way in here and get something for me. You can be as blunt as you want. Molly’s in here somewhere and I wanna know where. I’m in 335W, the Intercontinental. She was registered here too, but I don’t know what name she was using. Ride in on this phone and do their records for me.”

“No sooner said,” the Flatline said. Case heard the white sound of the invasion. He smiled. “Done. Rose Kolodny. Checked out. Take me a few minutes to screw their security net deep enough to get a fix.”

“Go.”

The phone whined and clicked with the construct’s efforts. Case carried it back into the room and put the receiver face up on the temperfoam. He went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. As he was stepping back out, the monitor on the room’s Braun audiovisual complex lit up. A Japanese pop star reclining against metallic cushions. An unseen interviewer asked a question in German. Case stared. The screen jumped with jags of blue interference. “Case, baby, you lose your mind, man?” The voice was slow, familiar.

The glass wall of the balcony clicked in with its view of Desiderata, but the street scene blurred, twisted, became the interior of the Jarre de Thé, Chiba, empty, red neon replicated to scratched infinity in the mirrored walls.

Lonny Zone stepped forward, tall and cadaverous, moving with the slow undersea grace of his addiction. He stood alone among the square tables, his hands in the pockets of his gray sharkskin slacks. “Really, man, you’re lookin’ very scattered.”

The voice came from the Braun’s speakers.

“Wintermute,” Case said.

The pimp shrugged languidly and smiled.

“Where’s Molly?”

“Never you mind. You’re screwing up tonight, Case. The Flatline’s ringing bells all over Freeside. I didn’t think you’d do that, man. It’s outside the profile.”

“So tell me where she is and I’ll call him off.”

Zone shook his head.

“You can’t keep too good track of your women, can you, Case? Keep losin’ ’em, one way or another.”

“I’ll bring this thing down around your ears,” Case said.

“No. You aren’t that kind, man. I know that. You know something, Case? I figure you’ve got it figured out that it was me told Deane to off that little cunt of yours in Chiba.”

“Don’t,” Case said, taking an involuntary step toward the window.

“But I didn’t. What’s it matter, though? How much does it really matter to Mr.

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