Deane put the pistol down. "Sit still, Case." He tapped something out on a lap terminal. "It seems as though you know as much as my net does, Case. This gentleman seems to have a temporary arrangement with the Yakuza, and the sons of the neon chrysanthemum have ways of screening their allies from the likes of me. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, history. You said history." He picked up the gun again, but didn’t point it directly at Case. "What sort of history?"