"Put it on the counter. I lock up." He came from behind the counter, wearing those gray felt clogs that reminded Milgrim of the feet of toy animals. He went to the door, slid a bolt into place, and returned. "I hate these Air," he said, amiably enough, turning the laptop over and producing the first of a number of tiny, very expensive-looking screwdrivers. "They are very bitch, to open."