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Some assorted clacking, shuffling, and one bang.

Constantine, lay off the gin, he says. It'll get you in trouble, he says. You just got out of trouble...

There's a muffled mimic from John, something about trouble and deals in an affected tone.

Well, I bet he's having a laugh now.

Oh, it's a damn riot, you bastard.

Didn't see this one coming. ...never here the end of it.

A long pause.

Fuck's sake. It had to be electronic. Never trust--

The recording abruptly ends.

I did not claw my way up from skid row to have some pocket-Hell switch out my Prada with Polyanna of the Goddamn Prairie. Now who the fuck took my catsuit. Someone's gonna pay with their skin

[At first there is a flash of static, then among the light clicking of make-up articles on the marble counter, the voice of a woman fades into the speakers of every resident's PDA. A low, smooth alto in languid, lazy song. Singing alone, without music.]

...swayin' in the breeze.

Bend with me. Sway with me.

And if you think you have a way with me...

Stay with me.

Sway with me.