The weeks drag on, and Rock begins to forget that he has sold himself. Each morning, he looks at the calendar on his wall. On a Thursday late in August he sees missiles launched. Predictably, America seeks retribution for the embassy bombings with a massive show of force: smoke erupts from American warships - dozen of cruise missiles launched to hit targets in Sudan and Afghanistan. The Americans don't get their targets. The 'chemical weapons factory' in Sudan turns out to have been making medicine. The missiles in Afghanistan kill a handful of men, none of whom are terribly significant. Rock imagines those cruise missiles aimed at Roanapur instead.
What a sight that would be. Complete and utter devastation. Chang would not be able to evade a solid ton of high explosive coming at him from above. Balalaika's troops would find no shelter against a hail of cluster bombs. The whole city could go up in flame, he imagines, the whorehouses and slaughterhouses and drughouses, the whole mess of rot would burn and there would be nowhere left for them to hide afterward. Of course, Rock knows such a barrage would kill him, too.
Still, it is too much to hope for. Roanapur seems lawless, but Thailand is not. It isn't the kind of country that can be bombarded by the United States without a serious reason. Rock's dreams of cruise missiles are just silly fantasies of his. His dreams have been weird ever since Revy taught him to shoot.
Twice a week, they drive off into the countryside and Rock shoots beer cans. Every time he draws his pistol from the special concealed holster below his waistband, Revy laughs at him.
"It looks like you're reaching for your dick," she says, holding her sides. "Talk about a fuckin' surprise."
Business otherwise remains slow for the Lagoon company. Around the office, they waste a lot of time talking about the president's impeachment scandal, which has been escalating for months. Benny claims that all the posturing America is doing with the cruise missiles and with Kosovo is just meant to be a distraction.
"Then the prez got the most expensive blowie of all time," Revy says. "Those missiles cost a shitton, and they were just popping them like party favors."
"One-and-a-half million dollars. Each," Dutch says.
"Product of Raytheon." Rock can still remember researching the competition.
"Good for them, bad for the home team," Dutch says. "Clausewitz said it best: packing too much artillery makes an army defensive. America just showed the world it's losing its edge."
Dutch's well-read wisdom gives the gang a little too much to think about. They become silent, uncomfortable at the changing world, even if they are thousands of miles from their own country.
And so the days drift off. Rock waits for the phone to ring at his apartment, losing sleep and time. He needs to know what is moving out beyond his view. All the T.V can tell him is the international news, and Revy can only give her perspective from the street-level. Nuevo Laredo finally seems to have their act together, and the city has become quite used to it.
August sputters out, with one fading shot. The U.S stock market takes a plunge, with investors getting scared by the teetering Russian economy and the feckless government of their first president. If instability in Russia is enough to push Wall Street, Rock wonders how it is affecting Balalaika. She and Chang are the most significant stabilizers in the city.
September is far less eventful than August. Rock carries a few mundane messages between Eda and Mr. Chang. They are discussing the potential for increased drug trafficking during tourist season. They are still in collusion over the Golden Triangle of heroin production.
Otherwise, he finds himself with little of note. At least until the last week, when the conflict in Kosovo heats up again. The U.N makes complaints and America promises a return to the region if the killing continues.
The mood in Roanapur is getting tense. The smaller gangs have learned from Angel's example and are moving swiftly to secure their territory with violence. One night, the crew of the Black Lagoon is making a delivery when the street erupts in gunfire. Rock dives into a pile of trash to make it clear of the line of fire, but Revy has the opposite reaction. She pulls his pistols and shouts her challenge to either end of the street.
"Come on, then!" She looks towards either shadowy end of the street. "You want to fight Two-Hands? You think you're the shit?"
Both sides of the spat clear out, quick. Revy, at least, maintains her authority in the city.
Tourist season is slow to start up, the American and European tourists not showing up in strong numbers. The weather gets a little cooler moving into November, but it still looks like it's going to be well beyond twenty degrees centigrade throughout the month.
"Jesus, just say 80 degrees, Rock" Revy tells him when he reads the forecast aloud. "We're all Americans. We aren't gonna learn that shit."
Rock admits she has a point. If it's always going to be warm in Thailand, why bother learning just how hot it is? Who changes without needing to?
They're sitting in the Lagoon Company's 'negotiation' room, the little apartment-office closer to the center of the city. Benny has the phones hooked up to go to there and the warehouse, so they can take clients and gigs from either location.
Revy is there with him, thumbing through an issue of Guns and Ammo, but soon grows frustrated.
"Goddammit, I feel like I'm sitting on a live grenade over here."
Rock has been watching the streets through plastic blinds, but he stops for her. "What did you say?"
She glares at him over her shoulder. "You pulled the pin on a frag and I've been sitting on it for you like some fucking mother goose. Now I'm just waiting for it to hatch."
"Is this about 'God'?" Rock asks, lowering his voice on reflex.
"Yeah, smartass. It's about you selling us out to the fucking feds, and me being a dumb enough bitch to just accept it."
She lights a Lucky Strike and Rock can tell that she isn't truly angry. The frustration and boredom have gotten to her. Their meeting with Mr. Chang was weeks ago, but nothing major has changed. It must be frustrating for her.
"It's almost December, that's when we're supposed to get the next call," he says. "We won't be waiting for long."
She points at his groin and the gun he has hidden there. "I taught you how to use that. Tell 'God' that makes us even. I changed my mind. I'm not helping out anymore."
Rock almost palms his Glock through his pants to check that it is still there. Revy has drilled him so heavily with his gun0 that he truly can't feel it there unless he thinks about it. The training has been doing the opposite from calming her down, though. The better he gets, the more she's been worrying.
"If we keep following that guy's orders, we're gonna be knee-deep in his shit." Revy lets the smoke out through her nose. Rock notices the bags under her eyes. She props her head on her fist, looking even more tired.
He regrets what he is putting her through, even though he tries to rationalize it as being done for their own good. But if he tells her, he's afraid of what will happen. The truth it an ugly thing in Roanapur. They can only look at it from sideturned eyes.
The phone rings. Revy looks at him and he shrugs. Boring work is better than the simmering argument he and Revy had going.
"Lagoon Traders, whaddaya want?" She answers, and her face sours further as she listens.
She tosses the handset to Rock. "Fuckin' asshole."
Rock presses the set to his ear and hears a familiar voice made strange.
"The time has come, Rokuro. Time to visit the Holy Land."
"You mean..." Rock can't bring himself to finish the thought.
"I'm getting new orders," Eda says. "I'll need you in New York in a month. Revy too, if she wants to. Come up to the Church. I should make my formal introduction to her."
##
Revy is in a state of denial all the way to the church. Then they go in the front doors of the chapel, and she sees who is waiting for them.
Eda stands before them in a nun's habit, but she has left her wimple off. Without the hair covering, her shoulder-length hair shrouds her face from the side. Revy waits until Eda rises from her kneel and turns around before admitting her identity.
"Son of a fucking bitch."
Eda is unfazed. "Nice to finally meet you, Rebecca." Her voice echoes up to the rafters.
"Fuck this." Revy turns around, reaches for the door handle. "Fuck all of you."
Rock seizes her hand, the calluses rough on his palm. "Revy, wait."
"Wait? For what? You wanna smooth talk me some more? You've been making deals with this bitch?"
She pulls hard but he holds on tighter. "Revy, please. I couldn't tell you before. It would have been putting you at risk."
Rock lets up and she yanks her hand away. She is angry, but she hasn't let her eyes go dead. More than anything, she must be hurt.
"I'm telling you everything now," he says. "This was the last secret. We're partners, right?"
She only looks at him in response. Eda approaches closer, so that they all can talk in less theatrical voices.
"Are you in, or not?" she asks.
"I'm still here, goddamn it," Revy snaps.
Eda smiles to herself. "Good. I'll get started, then."
She directs them to the pews and sits in the row ahead of them, looking back at them over her arm.
"You know who I am now," Eda says. "You're probably asking yourself what changed to get us all here in the house of the Lord."
It was not much of a mystery for Rock. There are heights in Heaven he will never reach, but reading the news could give someone a pretty good idea of the rumbling above.
"We have some new priorities internationally," she says. "They don't seem to know the ways of peace. You might call them blasphemers."
It is not difficult for Rock to tell what Eda's newly assigned priorities are. "Kosovo. You're going after Serbia"
Eda stops him to make a clarification. "For us, it's the Serbian Mafia, and whoever else aids and abets them."
"Then Hotel Moscow, too? Jeezus, you're both loonies."
"The Good Book says that a little bit of yeast will work its way through a large lump of dough."
"My book says that three people will work their way into the ground when they fuck with the Russians here."
"That's good, because it's not going down here. It's going down in New York City, the week of Christmas, at the Four Seasons Hotel."
"New York? The fuck's happening there?"
Eda was waiting for this, the chance to get Revy pulled in on the idea. She grins. "Once a year, international arms dealers get together and organize how next year's business will be carried out."
"In New York? The place is packed with feds and cops."
"What law enforcement doesn't know won't hurt them," Eda says. "All sorts of people rely on these deals."
It is Rock's first time hearing of such a meeting. At first, conducting illegal business openly in a hotel seemed entirely impossible. But the U.S Government was not a stranger to illegal conduct—during the Cold War, those arms dealers must have been crucial. It made no sense to ruin those working relationships by suddenly reintroducing the rule of law.
"And you get to listen in on the deals being made," Rock says.
"Yes, we do. And sometimes we have people in the room, too." Her eyes look over to him. "People who push things in the right direction."
She looks back over to the front of the Church. "The Kosovo Liberation Army will be taking advantage of the ceasefire to rearm. Knowing what we do about the Serbian government, they won't have a lot of time. That means leaning heavily on whatever they can find. The Serbians will have their own representation there too."
Revy leans forward. "How is a bougie convention going to get enough guns for a whole army?'
Eda was expecting that question, too. "There's a whole global system that moves guns where they need to go. The meeting in New York is for the biggest players to organize it. It was the same story for Bosnia."
"What am I supposed to do in there by myself?" Rock asks.
"You're going in as a negotiator for the Triad."
##
New York City's La Guardia Airport. One week until Christmas, and the international terminal is just as packed as if it were Christmas Eve. Revy and Rock blend into the line of people heading into customs.
"I don't like this," she says. She adjusts her glasses and sweeps her long hair behind her shoulders again. "I thought I knew her. But after all this 'God' stuff? We could be walking into a setup."
That was unlikely. Eda was following through on United States policy in the Balkans. She needed Rock to get the job done. At any rate, he knows that they are already indistinguishable from the tourists, immigrants, and businessmen, even if their passports are fake- Revy's appears to be from the United States, with Rock acting as her Japanese beau. Eda has supplied them with the documentation and the cover story. Rock has the feeling that he can trust her papers, even if Revy is still adjusting to the shock of the reveal.
'Rebecca Lee' is still wanted in New York, but Revy is no stranger to disguises. Her current setup is deceptively simple, nothing more than letting her hair down and wearing big fake glasses. Rock thinks it'll be successful. What are the chances anyone is still looking for her after so many years? And in the unlikely event she is stopped, she bears authentic documentation from the government that says she is Cindy Woo, a U.S citizen by birth.
The line moves up in twos and threes before they get to the customs agent. "Passports," the agent asks. Revy hands both over. He checks Revy's face against the image of Cindy Woo and then moves to Rock's passport. Its late enough in his shift that his job has become mostly mechanical.
"The nature of your stay?" the agent asks.
"Sightseeing," Rock says, "Two weeks."
And with nothing to declare, the agent stamps Rock's passport. They are cleared for entry.
It's not nearly cold enough outside to justify their winter coats. Revy seems put off by how warm it is. She doesn't say anything about it until they get in a cab outside the airport.
"Hey cabbie," she says. "What's the deal with the weather?"
The cab driver leans on the horn as a delivery truck cuts him off, then looks in the rearview mirror at her. "I dunno, just a warm December. What, first time back in a while?"
Revy shrugs. "Yeah, it's been a few years. What's up, then? Anything change?"
The cabbie has to think about it, but soon the words are flowing. "New mayor's got a hard-on for crime. Cops are up everyone's ass nowadays. Good for taxis, though. I used to get a gun in my face at least once a month."
Revy looks out her window and Rock gets the impression that she might have robbed a few cabs back in her day. She doesn't ask more questions for the rest of the ride.
Mr. Chang is funding their stay at the Four Seasons in Midtown Manhattan. It isn't some strange luxury, though. Rock is going to be working there. It's the yearly meeting of an international coalition of arms-dealers, and Mr. Chang will be in attendance... along with Balalaika. Roanapur usually doesn't have such strong representation in these meetings, but this is the first year that the Triad will be dealing directly from China. Eda compared the situation to Russia back in 1991. Political change opens up new markets for weaponry, and Eda wants to make sure she has eyes and ears there.
Beyond the standard contract negotiations, this year's meeting will be focused on the nature of the illegal arms smuggling out of China, with the Triad acting as the middleman for equipment from the People's Liberation Army. Rock will be watching and memorizing all he can- the happenings are of interest to Eda and the smuggling ring that hides her.
Even with business on his mind, Rock is distracted by the view from the cab. All of Queens looks strange to him, but then they pass through the tunnel into midtown Manhattan. He is reminded of Tokyo, but only fleetingly. The total absence of snow does not help.
"Remembering much?" he asks Revy. Her face is turned away, out to the city.
She responds with a look of amusement. "Memories of Midtown? No, I come from further south of here. If I got up here to do something, it's not worth remembering."
A little too late, Rock finally figures out what is reminding him of Tokyo. It isn't the busy streets and the skyscrapers. It's Revy. She's gone silent and cold- her mood feels brittle. She is recalling more than she lets on.
New York is far dirtier than Tokyo. The dust and grime and trash forms a visibly thick layer. Everywhere Rock looks he sees the city trapped midway in a cycle of decay and renewal.
The Four Seasons is an exception. It's a pure statement of investment- a luxury hotel barely five years old. Its marble lobby and the grand architecture within remind Rock of a classic American saying: 'Money talks'. If only it had anything worth saying.
There is a room under Rock's false name: Yutaro Iwasaki. When they get to the room, he notices that they have been provided with double beds. Revy tosses her coat to the sofa and pulls her brand-new sneakers off with all the frustrated weariness that accompanies intercontinental travel.
Rock had the dumb idea that she would be more curious about her surroundings. This was one of the most expensive places to stay, lying right at the heart of New York City. Wasn't this something she might have wondered about, looking up from the streets? He isn't impressed either. It may be expensive, but it lacks anything of value.
Revy's lying on her side, again facing out to the windows instead of him. She's still wearing her sweater and the jeans she put on during their layover in London.
"You're going to sleep in that?" he asks.
She rolls over enough to give him a baleful look with one eye. "I'm just wiped. Lemme rest."
He looks out of the window and down to Central Park. Monday afternoon- plenty of joggers, and the park is much larger than he would have expected.
"You ever play there?" he asks.
That makes Revy sit up with a snap. "Did you ever go play on fucking Mount Fuji?"
He admits he earned the rebuke.
"Too far from your old neighborhood, then."
Revy rubs her face, calming down. "I went a few times. But there's parks down by Chinatown, too. Columbus was big, but there were courts in Roosevelt too. No reason to get all the way up here except for business."
"I figured this wasn't your scene. But aren't you curious? About any of this?"
"What do I have to be curious about? This is just some chain hotel, fuck what price it is. As soon as we walk through that door and out to the street, where we stayed means jack-shit."
She does not care for status symbols. They are, after all, just symbols- things standing for something else. A fancy hotel doesn't give her power the same way a wad of cash or a loaded gun would.
She lies back down again and Rock switches the large T.V on. The news is still all about the president's scandal. Apparently, there's going to be a vote on impeachment next week, and the stock market is already reacting negatively.
Even though there are still two days before the meetings begin, the politicking has already started, the introductory phases of the massive multilateral negotiation it takes to move illicit goods across borders. When Rock is needed, he will be called. Mister Chang chose not to share much more than that. Obviously, it wasn't his idea to bring him along- he didn't want a 'neutral' man when Hotel Moscow was involved.
Revy doesn't lie down after regaining her guns. She's leaning against the backboard.
"What are we doing here?" she grumbles.
"Well, there's preliminary talks until later in the week, when the big meeting happens-"
"Yeah, but you aren't translating. What are you doing?"
"Well, Mr. Chang suggested to Balalaika that they should have a third-party arbitrator. They both nominated me to be here at the meeting to help smooth out their deals. I know enough about logistics in different regions of the Pacific."
"No clue why Balalaika would want to hire you for shit after Japan." Revy shakes her head. "At least we're getting paid. Are you gonna get some actual use out of this?"
Rock nods his head slightly. He is concerned the room may be bugged and won't elaborate.
She rolls her eyes. "Well, it's gonna be a boring time for me. All the hired help has to sit in the hall next door while the talking is going on. Maybe I should bring a book."
"Reading?" Rock asks. "You're going to start now?"
Revy shrugs. "Either I find something to do, or I get used to being bored. The arm-wrestling and dick-measuring in the merc room will get old real fuckin' quick."
Rock tries to imagine being crammed into a room with a global collection of trained killers. It doesn't seem fun at all.
"And what are we gonna do until the conference starts up?" she asks. "I know Mister Chang isn't showing up until the morning of."
"How about sightseeing? This is my first time here," Rock says.
Revy thinks it over in brooding silence. She comes to a decision and her head droops. "Fine," she says. "I'll give you the tourist special, first thing next morning. But I really need some fucking sleep first."
Rock makes calls the next morning but receives no answers. He takes it to mean that he has a free day. Revy doesn't wake up until his third smoke. He hands one to her as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes.
"Hey, this isn't a Thai cig," she says after taking a drag. "You took a walk 'round the block? Looks like you didn't get jacked."
"It didn't seem that rough," Rock says. "Everyone in Japan used to talk New York up like it's a free-fire zone."
Revy looks out at her old city. "Depends on who you are and what time it is. We're in Midtown right now, but try going to the fuckin' Bronx and you can get all the excitement you want."
She takes her time in the shower, so Rock orders room service instead of eating on the ground floor. He's buttering toast when Revy emerges from a cloud of steam.
"Holy shit, I almost forgot good showers existed." She's gently drying her hair with a towel. The disguise has her paying a little more attention to haircare.
Rock hands his toast off to her and starts buttering another piece. "Got a game plan?"
"Yeah, yeah," she replies. "We'll hit all the famous stuff today. 30 Rock, Times Square, Central Park..."
"You'll know the way?"
"C'mon, baby. Wasn't gone that long."
Rock soon finds that she is not putting on a front. She has an innate sense of direction on these streets, even if she claims the area was never her territory.
He had never had such a direct relationship with Tokyo- he hadn't been able to give her a 'tour'. Revy starts them at the south end of Central Park, going just deep enough inside to see a pond and a bridge, before heading back down to Carnegie Hall and Broadway. Their pace is sedate compared to the crowds of pedestrians.
In fact, Revy moves like she has other things on her mind. Rock is finding that none of the sights are fascinating him, either. He just isn't the type, he guesses. He could imagine himself differently, a stereotypical Japanese tourist with a wife and child in tow, a big camera weighing down his neck.
If he had stayed in Japan, his parents would eventually have found someone for him. He could have settled into his position- he could have resigned himself in peace and remained Rokurou Okajima for several unremarkable decades.
"Yo," Revy interrupts his thoughts. "We're here. Times Square."
Rock lifts his attention up from within himself. He can recognize his location by sight, with advertisements plastered along the buildings and lanes of traffic cutting through it. But it doesn't excite him. It's grubby and crowded and noisy. Even the larger-than-life ads are mostly just re-runs from T.V. They're the same thing as anywhere else, just more brightly lit.
Revy shades her eyes from the afternoon sun as she looks around the square. "Jeez, where'd all the porno theaters, go? This place was way sleazier back in the day."
Rock looks around with her. It isn't the most consumer-friendly attraction he's ever seen, but it was a far cry from Roanapur.
"No dealers, no hookers, only one hobo. What the fuck happened here?"
Her question is answered when a NYPD cruiser pulls up on the other side of the street. The cops inside use their loudspeaker to harass an old drunk digging through trash bags. Revy stiffens at the sight of the cruiser. Rock sees her fingers twitch at her sides.
The wino throws his hands up in defeat and wanders off. The cruiser continues on, and Revy returns to normal. Rock hands her another cigarette, before she even thinks to ask for it.
"They're trying to make this whole area some kind of Disneyland," she says, once they walked a little further. "That cabbie wasn't bullshitting about the cops being up everyone's ass."
Halfway to Grand Central Station, they stop for hot dogs. Revy's mood improves a little with the food and they stand by a trashcan, eating.
"So what was Times Square like when you knew it?" he asks.
"Busier." As she stands, chewing, more comes to her. "Every kind of street life would be standing out there. Fiending vets, con men, plenty of hookers and hustlers looking for business. I probably shouldn't have been out there, as young as I was, but we watched out for each other back then."
Rock tilts his head. "We?"
"Street kids," she says. "We'd get enough change together and ride up from Canal Street just to see what was up."
Revy finishes her food, balls up the wrapper, and tosses it at a trash can. She leaves the story hanging there, and Rock can barely pay attention when they arrive in the cavernous interior of Grand Central. He and her have a tacit agreement not to speak about their pasts too much. They were supposed to keep everything between them focused on the 'now'- keep it casual.
They get coffee in Grand Central and by the time they leave, the sun has set. The days are still short in winter, even if the temperatures are well above freezing. Their last stop before returning to the hotel will be Rockefeller Center, about eight blocks away by Revy's ken.
The walk is long enough for Rock's unfortunate sense of curiosity to rise again.
"What happened to them?" he asks.
"Who?"
"The kids you used to be with."
"The fuck you think?" she says. "We grew up."
There's more to the story, but Rock knows he won't hear it, at least not tonight.
Rockefeller Center is packed with lights and people. It's nearly Christmas, and the giant tree and all its lights stand tall above the crowd. Rock notices a little ice-skating rink inset into the plaza just in front of the decorated tree.
They stop by the edge and look down at the ice. Revy has a strange expression as she looks at the skaters moving in groups across the rink, some confident, others clinging to each other gracelessly.
Rock has never told her that he knows how to ice-skate. His mother had been desperate to find something that stuck back when he was ten years old and it became apparent he wouldn't be as great as his brother in school. Soccer, basketball, track, even archery and judo. Rock hadn't made the cut in any of the sports.
In one last kamikaze attempt, his mother had escorted him by town car to the massive skate rink across the city. The entire ride, she had impressed upon him the importance that he find some way to distinguish himself and reach the highest echelons of Japanese society, because his academic performance surely would not.
And when they arrived at the rink, she turned him loose upon the ice, totally alone. His family would not waste money on lessons before he could prove he had some level of talent. With two skates upon his feet, he tried to find his way between the fishlike schools of children and the adults who moved so confidently across the surface.
He knew nothing of how to survive there, but he had a certain stubbornness hidden in him. He would not stop just to save himself the pain. Instead, he let himself slip and fall over and over until he had learned the secrets of balance on skates. The ice was painfully cold each time he fell forward, his face colliding before he could get his hands in the way. Each time he fell, he would look for his mother's face on the edge of the ice. She would turn away from him, painfully cold.
But he tried to earn her favor. He kept getting back up. And he can remember the feeling of triumph once he learned by error and instinct what others needed an instructor to teach them. Trying to impress his mother with a demonstration, he had skated by her at the edge, building up speed as he went back and forth.
On his final pass, he made a single mistake in how his feet were angled. His balance deserted him in an instant, and he jack-knifed forwards off his skates. As his body pivoted forward, he couldn't position his arms. The full force of his weight and momentum fell upon his right arm- he still remembers the sound of bone snapping.
But that was not all. His head had whipped forward last. Just like his arm had broken, his face slammed into the ice, his teeth biting into the surface. Little Rokuro had yelled with pure, unadulterated hurt, gurgling from the blood filling his mouth. He looked for his mother through the haze and saw her face. She grimaced in disappointment. And then she looked away, cold, so painfully cold.
Revy tugs at Rock's elbow. "You good?" she asks. "You've been staring down there."
Rock pulls himself out of his past. "I'm fine. I was just remembering some things."
"What, you were a figure skater or something?" Revy's smile is wicked. "Mama dressed you all up in the tutu and glitter?"
His response is blunt. "Yeah. Funny."
"Whoa whoa whoa," she says. "The fuck's got you pissed?"
"Nothing," Rock says, then pulls his arm away from her hand. "Let's go."
Revy hails another taxi because they're both done walking for the day. By the time they hit another traffic light, he has decided to make amends.
"I was remembering something bad," Rock says. "I shouldn't have dragged you into it."
Her head rests on her hand and she's looking out the window again. "Forget it. We all have shit to deal with."
After an overpriced dinner in the hotel restaurant, they return back to their room. He doesn't even have a chance to sit down before the phone rings.
"Hello, Lagoon-" he stops himself.
Eda's voice comes through the line, transmogrified into 'God' through the scrambler. "Rokuro," she says.
"What do you want?" he snaps. 'Rokuro' was the name his mother had called him.
"Remember your instructions. Make sure Chang makes a deal on Kosovo."
"What about the Serbian delegation?" Rock asks.
"They're no longer on the board. It'll be nice and easy for you. Get it done."
She hangs up before he can ask a single question. He's left holding the phone and staring off into space.
"It's a work night, huh?" Revy says, spinning the cap off of a fifth of whiskey. "Sucks for you."