But the guy facing him was albino-white; death-mask face with jet-black lips, a close-cropped Mohican strip of titian hair running from the bridge of his nose over his crown and disappearing below the collar of his biker jacket. Ade O'Donal knew the look. Tribal. The guy was from Stoneygate.

Stoneygate wasn't somewhere Ade O'Donal went even in daytime, loaded with freaked-out psychos. Five tribes protecting Leicester's syntho vats, from the police and from each other, that district was wound up but tight.

Ade O'Donal dropped the Alitalia bags, making a dull slap on the hall tiles. "Brune?" it came out all wavery, like a whimper. And the broken thing on the floor was Brune, a puddle of blood spreading from a jagged rip in the dermal membrane. An ocean of blood, glistening sickly.

"Tentimes?" asked the Stoney.

"Shit, like no way. I ain't never heard of him."

"Lying, O'Donal, dey squirt me yo' file."

"Shit, man, I never told those two nothing, not a byte."

"No crap, Tentimes. No interested."

Ade O'Donal closed his eyes, didn't want to see the gun, or knife or whatever. Praying it would be quick.

"Job for yo'."

He risked a peek, ready to slam his eyes shut again. The Stoney was looking at him contemptuously.

"Say what?"

"Job. Burn."

"That's it?"

"Yay."

"All you want is like a fucking burn, and you waste Brune for that! You syntho-crashed shit." Ade O'Donal wanted to smash the Stoney with his fists, pound him into a pulp. His life was exploding into the all-time downer. People out of his nightmares kept coming for him, like every shitty deal in the world was his fault.

There was a tiny click, and a matt-grey ten-centimetre blade appeared a centimetre from Ade O'Donal's eye, diamond tip reflecting tiny slivers of cold blue light. "Don' gi' me lip, I slice yo'."

"Sure, OK, no problem, just cool it, man, right?"

"Where yo' terminal?"

The temptation to let the Stoney open the door was near-overwhelming. But he was wearing leather gloves, the charge might not be enough to penetrate. Too dangerous. "Down here," Ade O'Donal sighed.

The Stoney took in the wine cellar's hardware with a stoic gaze. "Alien," he murmured.

Ade O'Donal crumpled into his chair behind the table that held his terminals. "What's the burn?"

"Wolf say finish Event Horizon, d' core. Suit yo'?"

"How?"

A shrug.

"Shit."

"Be good. I break cover fo' yo'."

Cover? What the hell did that mean? No way could this arsehole be Wolf in person. This was getting extreme deep, the kind of deep he wasn't likely to climb out from. "Hey, listen, how are you gonna know if I take out the core? I mean, you're gonna leave me alone if I pull this off, right?"

"Friends, dey watching."

"And if it works?"

"Yo' still jiving tomorrow."