While infected with a mutant strain of hepatitis, Ice's liver gave out. The Boys of Tangier gave her a new one, but when they demanded payment, Ice revealed that she was broke. The Boys sold her to the owners of the Zone Deluxe, a pair of identical albino twins who called themselves the Tundra Brothers.
Jonny called in some favors with a smuggler who specialized in stolen corporate data and bought out the Brothers' interest in Ice with the access codes for the Tokyo Stock Exchange. It was sweet deal all the way around. Jonny knew the Tundra Brothers were not particularly smart.
Using the codes, the Brothers made themselves rich in a week.
They descended into a kind of madness then, like a tape player stuck on fast forward, spiraling on a terminal party high, manipulating stock prices. By the end of the second week, the Brother's bank accounts rivaled the big corporate fortunes of the oldest families of Tokyo. It took another week for the Yakuza to find them. After that, the Tundra Brothers and the Zone Deluxe were relegated to that specialized branch of urban mythology embracing everything from the merely foolish to the truly insane. But Ice was out by then.
'Why did you go?' asked Jonny.
'I don't know,' Ice answered quickly, as if she had anticipated the question. She closed her eyes. 'I really don't.'
'Too many ghosts,' said Jonny.
Ice lay down on the futon and rested her head on Jonny's chest.
She opened her eyes, but would not look at him.
'I'm better here,' she said. 'I know who I am. There's a structure to reality.' She tugged at her short, curly hair. 'Things tend to stay in focus.'
'Yeah, I understand,' Jonny said.
He looked around the room, gnawing the inside of his cheek nervously. Among the packing material, clothes and books had been tossed at random. Ice and Jonny had been the slobs in their menage-a-trois. Sumi was the only one who cared for a clean house. He was glad to see that, at least, that had not changed.
'We could all use a little structure,' he said.
He looked back at Ice and watched her rubbing her eyes sleepily. It was at times like this when Jonny was reminded of just how small she was. Of how much strength it took for her just to push back the void each day. 'I'll leave, if you want. I can sleep in the ward,' he said.
'No,' said Ice, looking troubled. 'Please stay. How's Sumi?'
'I don't know. That's part of why I'm here. I have to get out of Los Angeles. Zamora's after me. We have to get Sumi before he finds the house in Silver Lake.'
'We will,' Ice said, 'but not now. Tomorrow, when Groucho gets back.'
Jonny nodded wearily and lay his head down on the pillow. Ice leaned over and kissed him. Opening her lips, she invited his tongue into the warmth of her mouth. His hands roamed her body, found the tail of her shirt, and slid up to cup her small breasts. They moved together for some time until, suddenly exhausted, Jonny's head began to spin. But they kept their arms around each other, as if one of them might be swept away at any moment.
'You shouldn't have run off like that,' Jonny said.
'I know,' Ice whispered. 'Now go to sleep.'
He turned to her, groggily.
'We have to get Sumi.'
'We will, don't worry.'
Jonny rolled onto his side. He felt her arm encircle him.
'Too many ghosts,' he said.
He felt her nod.
'Too many goddam ghosts.'
FOUR
During the last few hours of night, Jonny was caught in a series of violent, fevered dreams in which he was being pursued by things he could not see. The end of each dream was the same: he would stumble or feel his legs lock like rusting machinery, leaving him stranded and helpless. Then something would grab him and he would be jolted awake by a phosphorous dream-flash that snapped his eyes open. He would lie in the dark room staring at the ceiling as vague pains stirred just behind his eyes. In a few minutes he would drift back to sleep. For a time he would float peacefully on a sea of nothingness, but then the dreams would start again.
There was a woman, all in white, running down Hollywood Boulevard, her hair and dress in flames. Long rows of chrome beetles moving over damp brickwork. A man in the back of a pedicab.
Mirror shades, cheap plastic poncho. From the cab, he points a gun at Jonny. It is all deliriously slow. There is no sound, only the muzzle flash and the heat of impact.
'Jonny, wake up, goddamit!' called Ice. 'You're gonna pull your stitches out.'
Jonny awoke at the sound of her voice. Her face was right above his, thin lines of tension spreading out radially from the corners of her eyes. 'Jesus, what a ride,' he said, his voice hoarse with sleep. 'How long have I been out?'
'Almost twenty hours,' said Ice. She settled down next to him on the futon. She was wearing baggy fatigue pants and a tank top with the faded picture of some Japanese pop singer. 'I was starting to get worried. You barely twitched in all that time, then all of a sudden you're moaning and rolling around like you're trying to hogtie a Meat Boy.'
'Did it look like I made it?'
Ice smiled. 'You were massacred.'
'Typical,' replied Jonny.
The room they were in was small. Seeing that brought back images of the previous night. He remembered the Piranhas, his trek through the sewers, Zamora's threats. His arms were still bandaged, his right shoulder itched fiercely in a clear plastic induction cast, healing in its weak electrical field. Looking around, Jonny saw rough walls, gray limestone papered with yellowing layers of ancient subway schedules and anti-Arab propaganda. Hexagonal panels of radio-luminescent plastic lit cases of medical supplies and electronic gear stacked ceiling-high against two walls.
'No windows,' Jonny said. We're still underground.'
'Give that man a cigar,' said Ice. She picked up a styrofoam tray from a crate littered with drug ampoules. The smell of frijoles and rice assaulted Jonny. 'Breakfast, babe. Quieres?'
He groaned and pulled the sheets up over his face. 'Take it away. I'll never eat again.'
'Come on, you've got to get your strength back.'
'Forget it. You're going to have to feed me with needles. I think something slept in my mouth.'
Ice set the tray down, as Jonny reached out and took her arm, pulling her on top of him. Careful to avoid his bandages, she slid her arms under his shoulders, grinding her crotch into his. The scent of her body transported him; they were home, in their own bed in Hollywood. He could sense Sumi's presence nearby. Then a second later, the hallucination was gone. Still kissing, Jonny experienced a terrific urge to bite Ice's tongue.
'You know I'm still pissed at you,' he said.
'I know,' said Ice.
'And I don't buy that 'I don't know why I left' crap, either.'
'But I don't know why. It's all twisted around in my head.' Ice sat up, pushing a few beaded corn-rows of hair from her face. 'I just knew I had to move. Get away.'
'From what?'
'From everything. From my life. And that meant you and Sumi.'
'That's comforting.'
'Part of it was living in this city. Nothing's real here. It was getting to me. Was getting to you, too.'
Jonny put a hand on Ice's cheek and turned her head, forcing her to look at him. 'What do you mean?'
