Cryptonomicon

bail.'

'Of course! You are charged with a capital crime! Even though every one knows it is a joke, proper respect must be shown.'

'They pulled the planted drugs out of my bag-there are a million witnesses. It was a drug, right?'

'Malaysian heroin. Very pure,' Attorney Alejandro says admiringly.

'So there are all of these people who can testify that a sack of heroin was found in my luggage. That would seem to complicate the job of getting me out of jail.'

'We can probably get it dismissed before an actual trial is launched, by pointing out flaws in the evidence,' Attorney Alejandro says. Something in his tone of voice, and the way he's staring out the window, suggests this is the first time he's actually thought about how he's going to specifically attack this problem. 'Perhaps a baggage handler at NAIA will step forward and testify that he saw a shadowy figure planting the drugs in your bag.'

'A shadowy figure?'

'Yesss,' says Attorney Alejandro irritably, anticipating sarcasm.

'Are there a lot of those hanging around backstage at NAIA?'

'We don't need a lot.'

'How much time do you think might pass before this baggage handler's conscience finally gets the better of him and he decides to step forward?'

Attorney Alejandro shrugs. 'A couple of weeks, perhaps. For it to be done properly. How are your accommodations?'

'They suck. But you know what? Nothing really bothers me anymore.'

'There is concern among some of the officials of the prison service that when you get out, you may say harsh things about the conditions.'

'Since when do they care?'

'You are a little famous in America. Not very famous. A little. Do you remember the American boy in Singapore, who was caned?'

'Of course.'

'Very bad publicity for Singapore. So there are officials of the prison service who would be sympathetic to the idea of putting you in a private cell. Clean. Quiet.'

Randy cops a questioning look, and holds up one hand and rubs his thumb and fingers together in the 'money' gesture.

'It is done already.'

'Chester?'

'No. Someone else.'

'Avi?'

Attorney Alejandro shakes his head.

'The Shaftoes?'

'I cannot answer your question, Randy, because I do not know. I was not involved in this decision. But whoever did it was also listening to your request for some way to kill the time. You requested books?'

'Yeah. Do you have some?'

'No. But they will allow this.' Attorney Alejandro now opens up his briefcase, reaches in with both hands, and pulls out-Randy's new laptop. It still has a police evidence sticker on it.

'Give me a fucking break!' Randy says.

'No! Take it!'

'Isn't it like evidence or something?'

'The police are finished. They have opened it up and looked for drugs inside. Dusted it for fingerprints-you can still see the dust. I hope that it did not damage the delicate machinery.'

'Yeah, me too. So, are you telling me that I'm free to take this to my new, clean, quiet, private cell?'

'That is what I am telling you.'

'And I can use it there? No restrictions?'

'They will give you an electrical socket. A plug-in,' Attorney Alejandro says, and then adds significantly, 'I asked them,' which is clearly a little reminder that any fees eventually paid to him will have been richly earned.

Randy draws a nice deep breath, thinking, Well, it is just fantastically generous-in fact, a little bit startling-that the powers that want to convict and execute me are willing to go to such lengths to allow me to dick around on my computer while I am awaiting my trial and death.He exhales and says, 'Thank god, at least I'll be able to get some work done.' Attorney Alejandro nods approvingly.

'Your girlfriend is waiting to see you,' he announces.

'She's not really my girlfriend. What does she want?' Randy demands.

'What do you mean, what does she want? She wants to see you. To give you emotional support. To let you know that you are not all alone.'

'Shit!' Randy mutters. 'I don't want emotional support. I want to get the fuck out of jail.'

'That is my department,' Attorney Alejandro says proudly.

'You know what this is? It's one of those men-are-from-Mars, women-are-from-Venus things.'

'I have not heard of this phrase but I understand immediately what you are saying.'

'It's one of those American books where once you've heard the title you don't even need to read it,' Randy says.

'Then I won't.'

'You and I see just that someone is trying to fuck me over and that I need to get out of jail. Very simple and clean. But to her, it is much more than that-it is an opportunity to have a conversation!'

Attorney Alejandro just rolls his eyes and makes the universal 'females yammering' gesture: thumb and fingertips closing and opening like a disembodied flapping jaw.

'To share deep feelings and emotionally bond,' Randy continues, closing his eyes.

'But this is not so bad,' Attorney Alejandro says, radiating insincerity like a mirrored ball in a disco.

'I'm doing okay in this jail. Surprisingly okay,' Randy says, 'but it's all about keeping up a kind of emotionless front. Many barriers between me and my surroundings. And so it just makes me crazy that she's picking this particular moment to implicitly demand that I let my guard down.'

'She knows you are weak,' Attorney Alejandro says, and winks. 'She smells your vulnerability.'

'That's not all she's going to smell. Is this new cell going to have a shower?'

'Everything. Remember to put something heavy on the drain so that rats do not climb up out of it during the night.'

'Thanks. I'll just put my laptop there.' Randy leans back in his chair and wiggles his butt around. There is a problem now with an erection. It has been at least a week for Randy. Three nights in the jail, the night before that at Tom Howard's house, before that the airplane, before that Avi's basement floor . . . actually it has probably been a lot more than a week. Randy needs badly to get into that private cell if for no other reason than it will give him an opportunity to vent that which is bearing down hard on his prostate gland and get his mind back on an even keel. He prays to god that he's only going to be seeing Amy through a thick glass partition.

Attorney Alejandro opens the door and says something to the waiting guard, who leads them down a hallway toward another room. This one's bigger, and has a number of long tables, with little familial clusters of Filipinos scattered about. If these tables were ever intended to serve as barriers against physical contact, it has long been forgotten; it would take something more like the Berlin Wall to prevent Filipinos from showing affection for each other. So Amy is there, already striding around the end of one of the tables as a couple of guards pointedly look the other way (though their eyes dart back to check out her ass after she has blown by them). No dress this time. Randy predicts it will be a few years before he sees Amy in a dress again. Last time he did, his dick got hard, his heart pounded, he literally salivated, and then suddenly armed men were putting handcuffs on him.

Right now, Amy's in old jeans ripped out at the knee, a tank-top undershirt and a black leather jacket, better to accommodate her concealed weapons. Knowing the Shaftoes, they've probably gone to some very high Defcon level, the one just short of all-out nuclear exchange. Doug Shaftoe probably showers with a SEAL knife clenched in his teeth now. Amy, who normally goes for a low, one-armed, sidelong type of hug, now throws both arms up as if signaling a touchdown and crooks both elbows behind the nape of Randy's neck and lets him feel