In the shadows, black and white holding in a panda-pattern across his face, each of the regions a growth or mass of scar tissue, waits the connection he’s traveled all this way to see. The face is as weak as a house-dog’s, and its owner shrugs a lot. Slothrop: Where is he? Why didn’t he show? Who are you? Voice: The Kid got busted. And you know me, Slothrop. Remember? I’m Never. Slothrop (peering): You, Never? (A pause.) Did the Kenosha Kid?
