“I don’t get it.”

“Putting this thing to work so that it feeds me, that’s good. It’s better than the reverse, which is when it feeds on me. But when I use it, it’s calling the shots.”

“Uh-huh. As in, ‘Yank, yank.’ You could quit.”

Except that I didn’t know any way to turn it off. Once I’d had a concussion, and my talent had gone away. It would have been a wonderful couple of days, if only the events surrounding the concussion hadn’t been such a nightmare. I shook my head. “If you’re already a geek, you’re better off joining the sideshow and biting the heads off chickens, because at least it’s a regular paycheck.”

“Don’t tell that to your pal Lobo. He might part your hair for you. Where’d you get the idea you’re a geek?”

“I grew up with it,” I said, looking at her profile. “Sort of like your teddy bear.”

We were back in town; I recognized the edge of the Scandal District. She said, “I didn’t mean to push your buttons.”

I don’t know what I would have answered, because that was when the big Norton, painted metalflake olive and cream and brilliant with original chrome, slewed out in the street next to us. Rico said something sharp and pulled over.

The motorcyclist yanked his helmet off to reveal Linn’s ascetic pale face. It was bloodless to the lips this time, lines drawn sharp between the eyebrows, eyes a little wide and mouth laid tight closed.

“Sunny! There’s another one,” he said.

“Hell,” Sunny Rico breathed, and it sounded less like an epithet than a description of the circumstances.

“Bolt Street emergency, and not much time.” Linn pulled his helmet back on and throttled the Norton into the street and around the corner.

Rico turned to me. “I can’t take you home right away. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” I said, suspecting that whatever was going on was not all right for somebody. We sped off in pursuit of Linn.

The clinic on Bolt Street was almost a real hospital, certainly as close as you were likely to get south of Ho. Sometimes they even charged patients for treatment, when it seemed like they could afford it. Four doctors kept their offices there for outpatients, but there were also a few recovery rooms and a surprisingly well-outfitted ER. It was outside this that Rico bumped her front wheels up over the sidewalk. I hadn’t exactly been invited, but when she came flying in the door, making everyone in the hall leap back with startled looks at her shoulder holster, I was pretty close behind.

She grabbed the first person in white she came to, a middle-aged woman in tunic and trousers, and said, “You had an O.D. admitted, very recently. Where?”

“You’re with Detective Linn?”

“Yes. Where?”

“That hall, third door. And who the hell are you?” she said to me, straight-arming me in the chest.