I watch his eyes, trying to see if he's playing me. They're unreadable; black stones sunk deep in dark wells.

--He got taken out over two years ago. Coalition assassins. They say. His warlord runs it now: DJ Grave Digga.

-- They say. Well, I would say the Vyrus was simply done with him, consumed him and passed him into the other world. The real world.

--Tell that to the guy stuck the daggers in X's eyes.

--The instrument is immaterial. The Vyrus has him now.

--Yeah. Right. Daniel, I'm not telling you anything you don't know. You know the X is gone. You know everything. What I need to know is if you have a name, and if you'll share it with me.

He stretches his legs out, crosses them at the ankles and tucks his hands behind his head.

--Long trip to the Hood.

--Yep. That's why I should be getting started.

--What do you need up there?

I could lie. But he'd know.

--I'm looking into something for Terry Bird. His new fish are into something.

He raises his eyebrows.

--Terry's new fish are into something he doesn't know about. How unlike him. What is it?

--They have a new high.

--A new high?

I lick my lips.

--They're shooting the Vyrus. Someone found a way to, I don't know, preserve it outside a body, and the new fish are shooting it.

--Oh.

He closes his eyes.

--That again.

I blink.

--Excuse me?

He opens his eyes.

--Nevermind, Simon.

--Did you say, again?

He takes his hands from behind his head, draws his knees up and rests his forearms on them.

--There is nothing new under the sun, Simon. It's all as it has always been. There is only one change, and the world is still waiting for it. The world is an egg, waiting to be born, waiting for Enclave to usher it across. Until then, it's all the same old shit.

I lean forward.

--Sure, sure, you'll transmute yourself into ectoplasm and lead your crusade and we'll all be turned into pixie dust and join the cosmos. But you said, again.

--Did I? Funny. Well, as I also said before, senility at last.

--Daniel.

--Simon. Enough. I'm tired. You said you wanted a name.

--I do.

--The Enclave who brought you up, did you recognize him?

--Man, you all look the same to me. All just a bunch of cadavers waiting to happen. You're the only one I can tell apart. And that's just because you look more dead than the rest.

He laughs, lips peeling up over gray gums, mouth open wide, barking laughter.

-- More dead. You know better, Simon. I'm more alive than you, more alive than anyone else with the Vyrus. Certainly more alive than the sleepwalkers out there on the streets with no idea of the universe's true nature.

I shift, unfolding my legs.

--A name?

He nods.

--A name. Yes. The Enclave who brought you up, he used to be with the Hood. He'll give you a name.

--Good enough.

I push myself up off the floor.

--Simon.

--Yeah?

--I will want something in return.

So much for a clean getaway.

--What's that?

--We talked the last time you were here.

--Uh-huh.

--I told you something.

--You told me you thought you were failing.

He looks at the floor, running his fingers over a nail head that sticks up from the floorboards.

--That's true, I am. But I told you something else.

Fuck.

--I don't remember.

--Don't be like that, girls.

--What?

He looks up.

--Did I?

He taps his forehead.

--What did I say?

--Nothing.

He watches me out of those holes in his face.

--Senility. Strange. Well.

He stands.

--You should go.

--What about?

--Hm?

--You said you'd want something for the name.

--Yes. Yes. Come see me, Simon. Come see me more often.

--Daniel, I'll try, but. I'm pretty busy most of the time.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. The heat radiates through my jacket.

--Come see me, Simon. It's what I want.

Like I said, it'll cost more than blood or money.

--OK. I'll come.

--Good. Good. Now go downstairs and get your name.