"Llama vomit," he said. "That's what they told me when I bought it. There's a rumor you're dead, Bucky."

"Do you believe it?"

"I came here for the express purpose of letting you know, all kidding aside, that no matter what your intentions are, we're determined to see you through this thing, irregardless of revenues, monies, so forth – grosses and the like. Your own intentions are uppermost."

"I have no intentions."

"Contractual matters. Studio dates. Record commitments. Road arrangements. We go when you say go. Until then we sit with our legs crossed. What the hell, an artist's an artist. Bookings. Interviews. Press parties. Release dates."

"How did you get in here?"

"It wasn't hard to figure out you'd be here. I knew you'd be here. Once we traced you to New York, I knew this was where you'd be. But look how hollow-cheeked. Look how ghostly. I had no idea. Who knew? Nobody told me."

"But how did you get in here?" I said.

"I picked up the key on my way in from the airport I've been in Chicago the past two days. First they tell me you've disappeared, so I make all the usual inquiries. Then they tell me there's a riot in the Astrodome, so I make all the usual public statements. Then I catch a plane to New York and pick up the key on my way down here."

"Pick up the key where?"

"At our lavish offices in world-famous Rockefeller Center."

"What was it doing there?"

Transparanoia owns this building," he said.

"I didn't know we were in real estate. Since when?"

"Two or three months ago. Modestly. We're in very modestly. Lepp's a cautious man. He picks up a piece of property here and there. Mostly related to the business. An old ballroom or theater. Shuttered property. Nothing big."

"What are we doing with a building like this?"

"Lepp stays out of my sphere of influence and I don't go messing in his. I'm not in love with what you look like, Bucky. You're a morbid sight. A one-man horror movie. Where's Opel?"