‘My block,’ Bear-man was repeating, apparently not the least inclined to be careful. The razor scraped, scraped on the one-day growth of beard on his throat. It sounded like a car transmission to Billy.

‘You,’ the man growled.

Thinking of his parents again, his aunt and uncle, other relatives.

Lovely Girl, of course.

He was going to die, and like this? Wasteful, tragic.

The massive vice grip tightened. ‘Are you the one? I’ll bet you are. Who else would you be, of course? Of course.’

What was the response supposed to be to that?

Not to move, for one thing. Billy sensed that if he did, he’d feel a tickling pain beneath his jaw and, after the stroke, giddiness, as blood sprayed and sprayed. And then he’d feel nothing at all.

Billy said, ‘Look, I’m with the city. I work for the city.’ He nodded at his coveralls. ‘I’m not here to hassle you. I’m just doing my job.’

‘You’re not a reporter?’

‘With the city,’ he repeated, tapping the coveralls – very carefully and with a cautious finger. Then he gambled. ‘I hate reporters.’

This seemed to be reassuring to Bear-man, though he didn’t relax much. The razor was still held firmly in one massive, filthy paw. The other continued to press Billy painfully into the wall of the tunnel.

‘Julian?’ Bear-man asked.

‘What?’

‘Julian?’

As if the name was a code and Billy was supposed to respond with the counter password. If he got it wrong he’d be decapitated. His palms sweated. He rolled the dice. ‘No, I’m not Julian.’

‘No, no, no. Do you know Julian Savitch?’ Irritated that Billy wasn’t catching on.

‘No.’

Bear-man said skeptically, ‘No, no? He wrote that book.’

‘Well, I don’t know him. Really.’

A close examination of Billy’s face. ‘It was about me. Not just me. All of us. I have a copy. I got a copy that was signed. Somebody from the city—’ He poked the logo on the coveralls. ‘Somebody from the city brought him down here. Brought him into our block. Here. My block. Did you do that?’

‘I didn’t … No, I don’t even know—’

‘The law says I can cut you if I feel I’m in danger and the jury believes I really felt I was in danger. Not that I was actually in danger. But if I felt I was in danger. See the difference? That’s all I need. And you’re dead, buddy.’

The sentences ran into each other, clattering, like cars on a fast-braking freight train.

Billy asked calmly, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Nathan.’

‘Please, Nathan.’ Then he shut up as the razor scraped his throat once more.

Rasp, rasp …

‘You live down here?’ he asked Bear-man.

‘Julian said bad things about us. He called us that name.’

‘Name?’