"You notice anything unusual about either of them—Flood or the redhead?"

"Just day dwellers, like you. Bourgeois four-oh-fours."

"Four-oh-Fours?"

"Clueless—Pottery Barn fucktards."

"Of course," Rivera said. He could hear his partner snickering now.

"So you haven't seen them?" the kid said.

"They're not coming, kid."

"How do you know that?"

"I know that. You're out twenty dollars. Cheap lesson. Go away and don't come back here, and if either of them contact you, or you see them, call me."

Rivera handed the kid a business card. "What's your name?"

"My day-slave name?"

"Sure, let's try that one."

"Allison. Allison Green. But on the street I'm known as Abby Normal."

"On the street?"

"Shut up, I have street cred." Then she added, "Cop!" like the chirp of a car alarm arming.

"Good. Take your street cred and run along, Allison."

She shuffled off, trying to swivel nearly nonexistent hips as she went.

"You think they left the City?" Cavuto asked.

"I want to own a bookstore, Nick. I want to sell old books and learn to golf."

"So that would be no?"

"Let's go talk to the born-again Safeway guy."

Four robots and one statue guy worked the Embarcadero by the Ferry Building. Not every day. Some days, when it was slow, there were only two robots and a statue guy, or on rainy days, none of them worked, because the silver or gold makeup they used to color their skin didn't hold up well in the rain, but as a rule, it was four robots and one statue guy. Monet was the statue guy—the ONLY statue guy. He'd staked his territory three years ago, and if some poseur ever showed up, he had to meet Monet on the field of stillness, where they would clash in the motion-free battle of doing absolutely nothing. Monet had always prevailed, but this guy—this new guy—was really good.

The challenger had been there when Monet arrived in the late morning, and he hadn't even blinked for two hours. The guy's makeup was perfect, too. He looked as if he had really been bronzed, so it was beyond Monet why he would choose to get his collections in Big Gulp cups that he'd jammed his feet into. Monet carried a small portfolio case, with a hole cut in it where tourists could stuff their bills. He had primed his money hole with a five today, just to show the challenger that he wasn't intimidated, but the truth was, after two hours, he hadn't made half of what he saw the newcomer take in, and he was intimidated. And his nose itched.

His nose itched and the new statue guy was kicking his ass. Normally Monet would change positions every half hour or so, then stand motionless while the tourists taunted him and tried to make him flinch, but with the new competition, he had to stay still as long as it took.

The robots on the promenade had all assumed poses from which they could watch. They only had to hold still until someone dropped cash into their cup, then they would do the robot dance. It was boring work, but the hours were good and you were outside. It looked like Monet was going down.

Sundown.

He felt like his ass was on fire.

Tommy came to to the sound of a riding crop being smacked against his bare butt and the rough bark of a woman's voice.

"Say it! Say it! Say it!"

He tried to pull away from the pain but couldn't move his arms or legs. He was having trouble focusing his vision—waves of light and heat were rocketing around his brain and all he could really see was a bright red spot with waves of heat coming off of it and a figure moving around the edges. It was like staring into the sun through a red filter. He could feel the heat on his face.

"Ouch!" Tommy said. "Dammit!" He pulled against his bonds and heard a metallic rattling, but nothing gave.

The red hot light went away and was replaced by the blurry form of a female face, a blue face, just inches away from his own. "Say it," she whispered harshly, spitting a little on the "it."

"Say what?"

"Say it, vampire!" she said. She whipped the riding crop across his stomach and he howled.

Tommy squirmed against his bonds and heard the rattling again. With the spotlight moved away, he could see that he was suspended by very professional-looking nylon restraints to a brass, four-poster bed frame that had been stood on end. He was completely naked and evidently the blue woman, who was dressed in a black vinyl bustier, boots, and nothing else, had been whaling on him for some time. He could see welts across his stomach and thighs, and well, his ass felt like it was on fire.

She wound up to smack him again.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," Tommy said, trying not to screech. He only realized then that his fangs were extended and he'd bitten his own lips.

The blue woman held up. "Say it."

Tommy tried to keep his voice calm. "I know you've been doing this for a while now, but I've only been awake for about a minute of it, so I have no idea what you are asking me. If you slow down and repeat the whole question, I'll be happy to tell you whatever I know."

"Your safety word," said the blue woman.

"Which is?" Tommy said. He noticed for the first time that she had enormous boobs spilling out of that bustier and it occurred to him that he had never seen big blue boobs before. They were kind of mesmerizing. He wouldn't have been able to look away even if he weren't strapped down.

"I told you," she said, letting the riding crop fall to her side.

"You told me what a safety word is?"

"I just told you what it is."

"So you know it, then?"

"Yes," she said.

"Then why are you asking?"

"To see if you're at your breaking point." She seemed to be pouting a little now. "Don't be a dick, this isn't my specialty."

"Where am I?" Tommy asked. "You're Lash's Smurf, aren't you? Are we at Lash's?"

"I'm asking the questions here." She snapped the riding crop against his thigh.

"Ouch! Fuck! Stop that. You have issues, lady."

"Say it!"

"What is it? I was asleep when you told me, you stupid bitch!" He was wrong, he was able to look away from the blue boobs. He snarled at her, something coming up from deep inside him that he didn't even recognize—something that felt wild and on the verge of out of control—like when he first made love with Jody as a vampire, only this felt—well, lethal.

"It's Cheddar."

"Cheddar? Like the cheese?" He was getting beating because of cheese?

"Yes."

"So I said it. Now what?"

"You're broken."

"'Kay," Tommy said, straining against the heavy nylon straps, understanding now what he was feeling. He was going to kill her. He didn't know how yet, but he was as certain of it as of anything he had ever known. Grass was green, water was wet, and this bitch was dead.

"So now you have to turn me," she said.

"Turn you?" he said. His fangs ached, like they were going to leap out of his mouth.

"Make me like you," she said.

"You want to be orange? Is this another Cheddar thing? Because—"

"Not orange, you nitwit, a vampire!" she said, and she snapped the riding crop across his chest.

He bit his lips again and felt the blood running down his chin. "So for that you needed all the hitting?" He said. "Come over here."

She leaned up and kissed him, then pushed away hard and came away with his blood on her mouth. "I guess I'm going to have to get used to this," she said, licking her lips.

"Closer," Tommy said.