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such pain。 〃I remember you；〃 he said。 〃I was the mechanic who fixed your parents' car。 I wanted to help you then； and I want to help you now。〃 Before Trevor could flinch again； Kinsey wrapped his long arms around the boy and held on tight。
He felt Trevor's body go absolutely rigid； felt him try to pull away。 If he had kept trying； Kinsey would have let him go。 But after a few seconds of struggle Trevor sagged against Kinsey's chest。
〃I remember you too；〃 he said。 〃You recognized my dad 。 。 。 but he was ashamed of himself 。 。 。 ashamed of us 。。。〃
〃You poor child；〃 Kinsey whispered； 〃you poor； poor child。〃 The thin body was all sharp angles； all elbows and shoulder blades； it felt as fragile against him as that of a wounded bird。 Kinsey imagined Trevor's fear unfolding like treacherous wings to carry him back to that house； back to the strange and painful year 1972； to the death he no doubt thought he had deserved。
At last the crying faded to an occasional long tremor that jerked through the boy like an electric current。 He had been leaning hard against Kinsey； his sharp chin digging into Kinsey's shoulder。 Now he pulled away and slumped on the bar stool； swiping at his face。 Kinsey decided not to give him time to be embarrassed。 〃Let's go。〃
Trevor gave him a half…wary； half…questioning look。
〃You shouldn't be by yourself tonight；〃 Kinsey told him。 〃You're ing home with me。〃
He expected argument； maybe refusal； and he was prepared to push the issue。 But if anything； Trevor looked relieved。 Kinsey wondered whether the boy had been planning to hike out to Violin Road； to sleep in that bad memory of a house。 The house of Trevor McGee's thwarted doom and； perhaps； of Trevor Black's impending destiny。
Trevor slung his backpack over his shoulder； turned off the bar lights； and followed Kinsey out of the club； down the bad end of Firehouse Street； into the silent silver…lit night。
Chapter Four
Four rings。 Zach counted them with his teeth gritted； his free hand viciously shredding a fundamentalist tract he'd picked up somewhere； Tomb of the Unborn。
Then the gentle click of a lifted receiver； muted Dixieland jazz playing in the background。 〃Hi； this is Eddy Sung。〃
〃EDDY FOR CHRISSAKE YOU GOT TO HELP ME I GOT TO GET OUT OF…〃
The Dixieland changed abruptly to grinding industrial hardcore。 〃I'm sorry I'm not here； but if you leave your number I'll call you back as soon…〃
〃AWWWW SHIT； GODDAMMIT； EDDY； PLEASE BE THERE！！！ PLEASE PICK UP！！！〃
A squealing snatch of violins； then Eddy's answering machine beeped in his ear。 Zach took a deep sobbing breath； resisted the urge to slam his own phone into the cradle hard enough to crack its casing； and tried to speak calmly。 〃Ed…I'm in trouble。 You always said you coveted my apartment； well； call me soon enough and you might get the goddamn thing。〃
He hung up； spun aimlessly in the middle of the room for several moments。 The puter screen caught his eye； still pulsing like some obscene digital orifice。 Yes； you could fall headlong into that screen； that alternate reality like a cradling mouth or womb； never ing up for air； never realizing that so slowly； so smoothly you took no notice； it was chewing and digesting you 。 。 。
No。 Blaming the puter for his troubles； that was like a terminal lung cancer victim blaming a pack of cigarettes or； worse； his faithful old Zippo。 It was a tool and he had chosen to use it。 His troubles were with They whose clammy suckered tentacle grasped the other end of that tool。 William Burroughs had advised him to know what was on the end of his fork； but had he listened？ Of course not…and now the dirty tines were on the verge of impaling his tongue。
But in that direction madness lay。
He leaned against the doorjamb that led into the bathroom…with its polished sea…green tiles and its skylight in the ceiling high above the tub； taking a shower here was like standing beneath a sunlit waterfall； and where would he ever find such a place again？ A green waterfall of a bathroom…an apartment with all his things in it； a block from the wondrous bazaar that sold everything he needed； two blocks from the bank of the Mississippi that coursed 。 through the city like a throbbing brown artery？
Before moving in here two years ago； Zach had spent most of his time on the streets and at various friends' houses。 This was the first place that had ever felt like home。 He wasn't sure he knew how to live anywhere else； wasn't sure anywhere else would have him。
But that didn't matter。 He had been cutting things too close； taking too many dumb chances。 When he started hacking three years ago； it had been just another lark； another way of amusing himself； a curiosity like getting drunk on sloe gin or watching the Psychic Friends Network on late…night cable TV。 During his brief high school career he had taken an elementary programming class and ended up getting himself kicked out of the school puter room； which robbed him of his only good reason to show up at the brain…numbing； tomblike institution at an inhuman hour each weekday morning。
At sixteen； two years after leaving home； Zach dropped out and started casting about for something better。 He had known immediately that hacking was it。 He'd only had a cheap PC…clone with a slow modem at first； but fucking around on the underground bulletin boards he found with his automatic dialing program led him to wonder about other networks； secret systems and databanks that were supposed to be hidden but were actually right there； tantalizingly there； vibrating behind a thin membrane of mands and passwords。
Free information and money； if only you could get at it。 Zach soon discovered that he could。 And it was so damn easy 。。。
But if they caught you at things like stealing from credit card panies and breaking the systems of Southern Bell； affectionately known as the Gestapo among phreaks and hackers； it could be worth ten years in a federal prison。 Sure； you might get out in half as many； or even less。 But the thought of even one day in the pen was too much for most hackers； conjuring up vivid images of great tattooed baby…rapers and serial killers cornholing their lily…white butts； then snapping their skinny necks。
Zach let his knees buckle and slid down the door frame to the floor。 He'd kicked off his sneakers at some point； and the green tiles were blessedly cool against the soles of his feet。 He saw the round mirror above the sink reflecting his empty room； saw the dripping faucet that over the years had left a stain on the porcelain like the imprint of rusty teardrops； saw the blue ceramic mug that held two toothbrushes； one purple and one black。 He kept an extra because Eddy had been known to sleep over on occasions when they watched one bad film too many or talked too far into the night or simply drank themselves into a stupor on the cheap bourbon Eddy loved。
There was nothing untoward to it； though； nothing sexual； not even a furtive drunken groping here or there。 Zach liked Eddy too much for that。
But never mind who he liked。 He was going to be on the road； playing it lonely for a while。 Hackers were scared of