Jabali just grunted as we passed the spot. Dr. Daniel Terries lived in a narrow five-story building that looked as if it was held up by the buildings around it. I walked past it without turning my head. It was an old building-every building in New York was old-but it was obviously upgraded, reinforced and outfitted with the standard amenities. We went around the block a few times, stealing glances as we passed, finally crossing the street and paying two hundred yen for two tiny coffee drinks from a stand. I put my back against a wall and looked at anything but the building, just getting snapshots as I turned my head this way and that, enjoying the goddamn hell out of my thimble of warm, brownish syrup.

There would be a shell system, of course, providing basic but useless security and valet services. An escalator, air system, Vid dish on the roof-middle-class luxury. I didn’t expect to find much by way of real trouble getting in. It was crazy to break into a building just blocks away from Cop Central. Crazy was sometimes the best camouflage you could have.

“What now, boss?”

I shrugged. “We wait.”

Waiting was the number one skill a Gunner could have. Half the stories you heard about Canny Orel involved him waiting heroic lengths of time, just being a statue in shadows, barely breathing. Going in didn’t pay. Between the inadequate security shell and the expensive and equally useless inner security door, we’d lose precious seconds busting our way in, and Terries could make a run for it or maybe even call the cops-and since he was a government official, they might even come, though rumor had it the SSF and the civilian government had no love lost between them. No, we had to grab him off the street, and we had to do it clean and fast.

I just wanted to talk to the man, find out what he knew, without someone pressing their mental thumb into the soft spot in my brain. A Vid screen was located above the roof of a tall, skinny building with a burned-out top floor. I didn’t think there was anywhere in New York you could stand and not be in view of a Vid; the fucking government was forever putting new ones up and swapping out the old ones for bigger versions with new features. You even found them inside buildings, in the oddest places. Silently, this one spelled out exciting news: the civilian government-which was the Undersecretaries, since the Joint Council they nominally served was just a bunch of defunct husks buried under London-had created, by decree, a reconstituted System Military, to be funded immediately. There hadn’t been an army since Unification. Who needed an army? The dedicated and skilled members of our beloved System Security Force kept us snug, and we were one world now, without borders.

I lit a cigarette and ignored Jabali’s longing look. I could wait if I had to. Not like a statue, but I doubted any of the stories we heard about Canny Orel were all that true. He’d probably killed a lot of people, but shit, killing people was easy. Killing a lot of them just made you ambitious.

I was halfway through the pack when Jabali nudged my shoulder, looking away down the block.

“There he is, boss. White hair, walking stick.”

I squinted across the street and saw him-a tall, straight-backed man in a blue suit, a gnarled wooden walking stick in one hand. He wasn’t that old, maybe a little older than me, but he looked healthy, his skin reddish and shining even from twenty feet away, his hair white, pure. He walked rapidly, staring down at a small handheld device, and people instinctively got out of his way.

I gestured at Terries’ house. “Get his door,” I said, and launched myself into the crowd. Dodging pedicabs and perfumed men and women, I angled my way behind the good doctor and hurried to catch up with him. I slid my blade into my hand, the taped handle once again reassuring and solid. I thought of Gleason as I rushed the last two feet and stepped up close behind Terries, pushing the blade lightly against his back and putting my hand on his shoulder. Amateurs grabbed their marks around the neck or shoulders. It felt safer, having a big handful of your mark. But it gave them leverage on you, and if your mark had any talent at all, they’d flip you or roll you off them, spin you around and stab you in the guts while you stared at them, wide-eyed, amazed. Best to stay separate from them.

He stiffened. “Don’t stop,” I said in a low voice. “Keep walking. See the man with the ridiculous hair by your door? He will fucking shoot you if you stop moving toward him.”

To his credit, he recovered quickly and kept moving. “I don’t carry credit dongles,” he said.

“Fuck your credit dongles, Doc,” I said, nodding at Jabali. “We just want to talk. Don’t worry, I have it on good authority you want to talk to me.”

“Yes?” The man’s voice was almost melodious, almost soothing, even in a whisper. “And who are you?”

“Avery Cates, Doc,” I said. “You sent some monkeys to collect me yesterday. Sorry I had to kill them all.”

He stumbled a little, and a mean little flare of satisfaction lit up inside me for a second. “What’s the matter, Doc? I thought you wanted to talk to me.”

We reached his door, where Jabali was doing a creditable impression of a hardass. “Ah, Mr. Cates,” Terries said softly, suddenly sounding old and frail. “You’ve just killed me.”

“Of course, you don’t mind if I have a drink, Mr. Cates?” Dr. Terries said, his voice flat. “And you’ll have one, too.”

Jabali glanced over his shoulder at me, and I nodded. He stepped aside, and Terries stepped into his apartment slowly, as if concentrating on each step. I watched him cross to a glass bar near the big window that took up nearly the entire back wall, a perfect view of The Rock, soaring up out of the street. We could even see the tiny flecks of hovers around its roof, Big Important People being ferried to and from Cop Central. Terries pulled out three simple tumblers and poured a clear liquid into each, two fingers deep, and turned around with them in both hands.

“Vodka,” he announced. “Real vodka. Good stuff.”

I stared back at him, keeping my face blank, and he smiled.

“Shall I take a sip from each, Mr. Cates? Do you imagine I have any reason to keep poisoned glasses in my home against this possibility? I’m a scientist, for goodness’ sake.”

I shrugged. “This is the System, Dr. Terries,” I said. “This is New York.”

“Ah,” he said, holding two glasses in one hand and lifting one to his lips, draining it with a wince. “I see.” He placed the empty glass back on the bar and then carried the remaining glasses in each hand, stepping a few feet away from the bar and dropping into a comfortable black leather chair. He sat slumped down with his drinks in each hand.

I crossed to the bar. The whole place was decorated in leather and glass, black and clear. It was filled with light and the walls were clean, white-painfully white. I itched just looking around. This was what Dr. Terries did with money. This bullshit.

The bar was well stocked, though I didn’t recognize most of the bottles. I began picking them up and removing the caps, sniffing experimentally. “You don’t seem happy to see me, Dr. Terries.”

“I have never been less happy in my life, Mr. Cates.”

“I thought you wanted to see me. You sent a couple of Government Wonder Boys to grab me up.”

There was a moment of silence. I’d found a bottle of gin, the familiar medicine smell cheering me. I took the bottle and turned to face the good doctor and paused; his face was ashen, collapsed.

“I should have known better,” he murmured softly. I knew the tone of voice. There were only a few basic reactions when I showed up and pushed a gun into their ribs. Some people got angry, made threats they had no hope of ever carrying out. Some people got crafty, offered deals. And some people just got tired, gave up, sat down, and let it happen. I’d always thought the last were the smarter ones, because I always knew there was no threat that would dissuade me, no deal I would take.