Alexandre left the shop. Though he was still annoyed at the unexpected extra cost, it was still worth it for the benefit of protecting his freedom and anonymity. However, he was now almost out of cash, and it was time to leave the Underground.
After about twenty minutes of squeezing through the labyrinthian "streets" of the floor, Alexandre finally returned to the elevator which had brought him to the floor. Ordinary customers could've retraced their steps using the numbers which marked the various sections of the floor, but Alexandre's sharp memory and senses meant he didn't even need to rely on these.
Alexandre got into the elevator. The lobby button was no longer lit up and couldn't be selected, but another button labeled "Exit" was now lit up. Alexandre pressed this, feeling the slightest pull as the elevator began its movement.
This journey was slightly longer than the descent had been. Eventually, the elevator stopped and its doors opened. Alexandre stepped out and found himself on the ground floor of an office complex close to the Clark Street station. Feeling curious, Alexandre waited for a moment after the elevator doors closed, then pressed the "Open" button on the outside. When the doors opened again, a different elevator car was there, one that looked like it only took you from floor to floor in the office building.
"How interesting," Alexandre muttered, then turned around and exited onto the street. The sun's rays fell over him as he stepped outside, and the scents of the city returned.
Alexandre quickly retraced his steps to the Clark Street station entrance, where his cab was waiting.
The driver looked incredibly relieved when Alexandre got back into the cab. "I was beginning to think you'd been thrown in a Dumpster! I tell ya, a few more minutes and I've had thrown your bags on the ground and left."
Alexandre didn't bother replying to this whining, but he narrowed his eyes when he saw that the fare meter had risen to $950 in his absence. That was the price to be paid for monopolizing the cab, but it was still a bitter cost. Still, Alexandre paid what he owed and then growled, "Satisfied?"
The driver breathed a sigh of relief. Clearly, he'd had nothing to worry about. In fact, maybe it would be to his advantage to keep such a customer for as long as possible. He tried to recover his professional demeanor. "Um, sir, can I take you anyplace else?"
Alexandre replied, "Yes, actually, I've got one last destination in New Jersey. Here's the address." Alexandre turned over his phone, showing an address which had been sent to him over encrypted SMS.
The driver nodded. "Alright," he said, then pulled out into traffic.
***
Since the end of the Great Wave, Manhattan had become a writhing mass of ultra-wealth, a place where it was impossible to exist without a massive fortune. It had, in fact, earned the nickname "billionaire ghetto." Within Manhattan, popular Hunters rubbed shoulders with the more traditional NYC bourgeoisie such as traders and CEOs. Every entrance to the district had a veritable ghetto of ultra-wealth, where the popular Hunters lived and mingled with the traditional New York bourgeoisie such as traders and company CEOs. Every entrance to the borough had required a huge toll which was strictly prohibitive to anyone who wasn't incredibly wealthy.
Alexandre paid this toll, of course. When his cab entered the borough, Alexandre was met with the sight of perfectly clean streets, whole fleets of brand-new police vehicles, and an airspace punctuated by the passage of the private helicopters which linked the city's immense skyscrapers together.
If Brooklyn pretended on the surface that New York's past still existed, then Manhattan surged forward as fast as it could into a hyper-capitalist future. It was like a massive cruise liner that shoved tiny ships full of refugees and the poor out of its wake to smash themselves to pieces in the stormy water.
The cab traveled to Lower Manhattan and crossed the Hudson to finally arrive in Jersey City. Though the city was considerably less wealthy than Manhattan, it was still a well-to-do location, full of old brick buildings which housed expatriate diplomats and other upper middle class citizens.
Finally, the cab stopped in front of a building. The cabbie said, "Here's the address." His voice sounded hopeful—he clearly was wishing that Alexandre would have some additional stops after this.
Alexandre tipped the driver a crisp new $100 bill and got out, where a blond man in a blindingly white shirt was waiting. Alexandre grinned and shook the man's hand. "Jack! Finally."