That they should find the Private door unlocked, even a little ajar, only 
adds certain titillating spice to the moment, as far as Mickey’s
concerned. If he had any fears about his own mortality he wouldn’t be running
the shadows. He’d be sucking up to his mother, wearing suits, diddling desktop
keyboards. He’d rather live like a suicide, the young, than face a life in the
steel and glass coffins downtown. Now, he advances into the corridor, crouching, 
putting his back to the wall and pointing his AK at the wide-open doorway at the 
end of the corridor.