"I'm calling for comment on a story," he said. "It's my understanding that your lad, Perry, pitched a tantie and fired the business-managers of the ride, and has told the lawyers representing him against Disney that he intends to drop the suit." "Is there a question in there?" "Oh, there are many questions in there, my darling. For starters, I wondered how it could possibly be true if you haven't written about it on your little 'blog' --" even over the phone, she could hear the sarcastic quotes. "-- You seem to be quite comprehensive in documenting the undertakings of your friends down there in Florida." "Are you asking me to comment on why I haven't commented?" "For starters." "Have you approached Perry for a comment?" "I'm afraid he was rather abrupt. And I couldn't reach his Valkyrie of the Midwest, either. So I'm left calling on you, Suzanne. Any comment?" Suzanne stared across the road at the ride. She'd been gassed there, chased by armed men, watched a war there. "The ride doesn't have much formal decision-making process," she said finally. "That means that words like 'fired' don't really apply here. The boys might have a disagreement about the best way to proceed, but if that's the case, you'll have to talk to them about it." "Are you saying that you don't know if your boyfriend's best friend is fighting with his business partners? Don't you all live together?" "I'm saying that if you want to find out what Lester and Perry are doing, you'll have to ask Lester and Perry." "And the living together thing?" "We don't live together," she said. It was technically true. "Really?" Freddy said. "Do we have a bad connection?" "You don't live together?" "No." "Where do you live then?" "My place," she said. "Have your informants been misinforming you? I hope you haven't been paying for your information, Freddy. I suppose you don't, though. I suppose there's no end of cranks who really enjoy spiteful gossip and are more than happy to email you whatever fantasies they concoct." Freddy tsked. "And you don't know what's happened to Kettlewell and Tjan?" "Have you asked them?" "I will," he said. "But since you're the ranking reporter on the scene." "I'm just a blogger, Freddy. A busy blogger. Good afternoon." The call left her shaking, though she was proud of how calm she'd kept her voice. What a goddamned troll. And she was going to have to write about this now. There were ladders leaned up against the edge of the ride, and a motley crew of roofers and glaziers on them and on the roof, working to replace the gaping holes the storm had left. The workers mostly wore black and had dyed hair and lots of metal flashing from their ears and faces as they worked. A couple had stripped to the waist, revealing full-back tattoos or even more piercings and subcutaneous implants, like armor running over their spines and shoulder-blades. A couple of boom-boxes blasted out grinding, incoherent music with a lot of electronic screams.