NEAL STEPHENSON

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know what he’s doing, and he doesn’t know how Juanita is connected. But it’s time to go there and find out.

___________ Scott Lagerquist is standing right on the edge of Mark Norman’s 24/7 Motorcycle Mall, waiting, when the man with the swords comes into view, striding down the sidewalk. A pedestrian is a peculiar sight in L.A., considerably more peculiar than a man with swords. But a welcome one. Anyone who drives out to a motorcycle dealership already has a car, by definition, so it’s hard to give them a really hard sell. A pedestrian should be cake.

“Scott Wilson Lagerquist!” the guy yells from fifty feet away and closing. “How you doing?”

“Fabulous!” Scott says. A little off guard, maybe. Can’t remember this guy’s name, which is a problem. Where has he seen this guy before?

“It’s great to see you!” Scott says, running forward and pumping the guy’s hand. “I haven’t seen you since, uh-“

“Is Pinicy here today?” the guy says.

“Pinky?”

“Yeah. Mark. Mark Norman. Pinky was his nickname back in college. I guess he probably doesn’t like to be called that now that he’s running, what, half a dozen dealerships, three McDonaldses, and a Holiday Inn, huhr

“I didn’t know that Mr. Norman was into fast food also?’

“Yeah. He’s got three franchises down around Long Beach. Owns them through a limited partnership, actually. Is he here today?”

“No, he’s on vacation.”

“Oh, yeah. In Corsica. The Ajaccio Hyatt. Room 543. That’s right, I completely forgot about that.”

“Well, were you just stopping by to say hi, oi-“

“Nah. I was going to buy a motorcycle.”

“Oh. What kind of motorcycle were you looking for?”

“One of the new Yamahas? With the new generation smartwheels?”

Scott grins manfully, trying to put the best face on the awful fact that he is about to reveal. “I know exactly the one you mean.

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