“Holographic TV is Satan’s jukebox,” Caldwell heard one of the intoxicated men at the bar say to Ram, the bartender. The other men at the bar were still transfixed by the glimmering hologram that gyrated before them to blaring music. Ram, who was busy wiping the table adjacent to where Caldwell was sitting with a gray cloth, stopped mid-wipe and smiled, revealing a row of surgically carved white teeth. They were the imported kind you could get for peanuts in the alleyways of East Ham. Teeth made to order, in any material you want, ivory, pearl, marble, even diamonds if you wanted to put your money where your mouth was. Caldwell had a funny feeling that Ram had been looking intently at his knapsack. Had he been listening to their conversation? Did he know about the console? Publicans were notoriously famous for sticking their noses in gigs that were no concern of theirs.

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