So what had happened? Where had my boys been? Bart? The Lieutenant? The case had closed way too fast.

Shot to death in a Korean grocery.

I saw it in my mind. Preceding Elise into the bodega, taking in the place in a quick sweep-the too-narrow aisles, the shrink-wrapped boxes of stock behind the counter, the coolers in the rear.

Anything suspicious and my radar would've gone off. So instead of stumbling in on a robbery in progress like the article said, it was more likely that our killer had come in after we were already inside.

I pictured Elise hovering by the door as I went to the counter. Saw myself digging in my overcoat for my wallet, perhaps distracted for a second as it got caught in the pocket...

... Then the figure smashing into the store, knocking Elise against a display of fruit pies, gun in his gloved hand, coked-up eyes blazing through a ski mask like twin supernovas...

... and I'd be turning, too late, already far too late, and then the sharp cracks, the stink of cordite, the shock on her face as crimson roses blossomed on her chest...

I stood shaking in my hallway.

Arlene was right. A little shut-eye. That's what I needed.

It wasn't to be. A message from Maggie floated in the air above my couch.

Meet me at Rick's, it said.

11.

DONNER / MAGGIE.

On the way, as I passed the alley, I heard: "Make yourself right with God."

The wino was tucked between two trash cans, a pint of Mad Dog against his thigh. "End of the world, and soon," he said. "God's Judgment." He burst into tears. "Boy, am I fucked."

I shook my head. The same old end-of-the-world rant the loonies had intoned in my day.

The only difference was, now they had evidence.

"Rick's Place" was writ large in blue neon over a door of beveled glass. Garish. I pushed through the doors of the bar and walked into a movie out of the 1940s.

Onstage, a swing band was cooking. The band leader waved his baton, lost in sonic reverie, his coat tails flapping. Trombones and clarinets wailed with a wild-energetic pulse. The enthusiasm was pure post-Depression jazz.

Girls with short skirts and long legs circled, selling vice from their trays. The crowd was a cornucopia of white dinner jackets and two-toned shoes, pompadours and bobs, swing skirts and taffeta. The maitre d', his hair slick with brilliantine, grinned at me beneath a pencil-thin moustache.

"Welcome to Rick's," he said in a French accent. "Monsieur Rick never drinks with the guests, but I could give him a message..." His voice dropped. "If you have the letters of transit..."

"Huh?"

The host curled his lip at this obvious Philistine. His accent disappeared. "Shit, pal, haven't you ever seen Casablanca?"

I pushed past him, headed for the bar. Fuck the ambiance.

I rested my elbows on the bar's brass piping. The Chesterfield coat on the stool next to me was huddled over his drink in that protective way favored by veteran alkies. Excellent-no conversation. I waggled a finger at the bartender and got ignored, but good. Chesterfield finally roused himself from his morose life review and glanced at me. Did a double take when he saw my hair and eyes. He vacated his seat in a hurry.

I smiled at the bartender. "Scotch rocks."

The bartender didn't stop polishing the shot glass. "We don't serve your type in here."

For the greater good, I put amusement in my voice. "Bet you've been waiting your whole life to say that."

A nicked baseball bat appeared on the counter. "Maybe you want me to repeat it."

Before I could stand, a voice came from behind me. "It's okay, Mick. He's with me."

Maggie slipped onto the empty stool next to me. Mick's face cycled through a dozen shades of displeasure, but he went to pour me a drink.

I stared at my suddenly very three-dimensional counselor. She laughed and put her hands behind her head, arching her back in a luxurious stretch.

"I was wondering how I was supposed to 'meet you' at a bar," I said.

"I was feeling a bit cramped floating around your holo projector," she said. "So I decided to get physical."

And how. A native would've called her a peach. Her slacks, penny loafers, and sweater fit body and personality perfectly, as did the black glasses perched in front of those amazing almond eyes. Her hair had been softly waved, the bangs left intact. When every other female in the room was trying for platinum blonde Jean Harlow, Maggie was a smart, sexy bookworm.

I tentatively reached for her bare forearm. It felt solid. Not exactly like flesh, but- "Tensile hologram," she sighed. "You really want details?"

"No."

"So?" She arched an eyebrow, inviting comment.

I shrugged. "A little on the skinny side."

Maggie looked thoughtful. She nodded, and her figure abruptly filled out, her breasts swelling into a parody of voluptuousness. "Didn't know you went for the Mae West look."

The bartender burst into harsh laughter. I almost choked on my drink. Maggie smiled, and her body returned to normal.

"Much better."

Jesus. Shape-shifting drinking partners.

I gestured to the bar. "Nice place."

"I come here for the headliner."

The swing band had been traded for a woman encased in a single spotlight. She swayed, fingers caressing the square microphone like a lover's cheek. I couldn't quite place the boyish hair or the haunted, haggard face. But when she tip-toed into the first verse of "Over the Rainbow," I gasped. The rendition was so tattooed on my soul, that there was no doubt.

"Oh God."

"The way she's been partying, she'll be young enough to do a remake of The Wizard of Oz in no time."

"Are there a lot of reborn celebrities?"

"Some. Some have restarted their career pretty well, considering they're not allowed to leave Necropolis. But money is money, and Hollywood comes to them. Some agents specialize in reebs. The country doesn't mind watching their movies..."

"As long as they don't have to live next door," I said. "Like Nat King Cole, in the '50s. Good enough to have his own TV show, but not to drink from the same public water fountain."

Maggie examined me with interested eyes. "I thought all cops were racist swine."

"I'm not a cop anymore." I couldn't manage to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

She picked up a drink. "Okay, a toast. Something old, something new, something borrowed-"

"Something dead."

We clinked and drank. I gave her another look. "How come you didn't look this great when I woke up, counselor? You're... how would they say it now? The elephant's eyebrows."

"A man can only stand so many shocks at once," she smiled.

"Might've given me a reason to live."

Maggie's eyes twinkled. "Why, Donner. You flirting with me?"

I froze. It all rushed back. My future that never was, striking me across the face like a lover's slap. I knew I'd gone white. I couldn't seem to speak. "I'm sorry-"

"It's okay."

"Everything's just so..."

"I understand, Donner."

Irritation welled inside, bitter-strong. Why was I worrying about offending a machine?

"So," said Maggie, to change the subject. "Struldbrug."

I nodded, grateful. "You should have heard her rap."

"I did hear." I shot her a look. "So sue me. I was eavesdropping." She laughed. 'Something to remember me by'. Can't believe she actually went for a kiss."

"Yeah, thanks a lot for letting her in."

A smile. "Thought she was the maid."

"You know, it's bad enough that I've got an electronic dog collar that talks." I felt ugly satisfaction in watching her flush. "But now I don't control who's in my own apartment?"

"Fine." Her voice was sharp-edged. "I'll tell the next gorgeous woman who comes to your door to get lost."

"And stop eavesdropping. Don't I rate any privacy?"

"I don't listen when you poop." She made a face.

I ordered another drink. One wasn't gonna be nearly enough.

"So, c'mon, shamus. What's your take on our femme fatale?"

"I was wondering where she went to stereotyping school."

"You were hoping the first cliche to walk through your door would be a hooker with a heart of gold?"

"A guy can dream."

"She left her gun. The .25."

I'd noticed.

"She's a liar," Maggie continued. "I polyed her while she talked."

"You don't need electronics for that." I tapped my temple.

"Yeah, you scoped her chassis pretty thoroughly." She grinned. "Fuck her and I'll shut off your electricity."

"Oh, Maggie, jealousy is so unbecoming in an artificial person."

"Gigabyte me." Her eyes searched mine for a minute. "Surazal. You're coming up in the world."

I chewed the ice, wondering how I'd finished the second scotch so fast. "Doesn't make sense."

"Not unless she needs the appearance of a legit investigation, but really just wants some dupe she can control."

The thought had occurred to me. "Get me background on her. And her brother."

"What am I, your Girl Friday?"

I grinned. "You got a problem with that?"

"No-for now. So where were you all day, anyway?"

"You didn't follow me?"

"I do have a life, you know. Besides being an electronic dog collar."

"Like what?"

"You still don't get it, do you? I'm a person, Donner. Just a different kind than you're used to." She pressed a finger slowly into my chest.