Reno

His pied-à-terre in the Housing Campaign.

That expensive callbox you found checks all the marks. Give that another try.

Now. What's Mr. Reno been getting up to inside his tower?

Fresh but not unbroken -- the 'LIGHT' button is still missing.

You have plenty of forward thrust but none of the dexterity or grip required to dislodge the slippy article of your desire.

Doesn't look like anyone's been selling kibble here for years...

This is the pet shop you're looking for.

A SKYWALKING REACTIONARY, AT VERTICAL DISTANCE TO THE WORKING CLASS, AS OPPOSED TO HORIZONTAL.

Direct line of sight to the Campaign from here. You can see all of Party Alley from its top floor.

Something whirs inside the black sphere. A camera points at you.

Such majestic buildings always have multiple points of access -- better look around.

There's only one button on the sleek, metal callbox. Next to it, a small plaque embossed with a cheerful dolphin and a small glass sphere.

You press the call button, and the familiar chime begins to play.

"Any chance you'll let me in this time?"

"Neither. The only 'business' taking place is this right here, between you and me."

You were born to name assets. This shit practically rolls off the assembly line.

A man this wealthy could not possibly care about earning two more mil.

Adjectives. So many adjectives. How can any of them express the wonder, the mastery, the prominence of Chrysanthemum Sorrow?

All prices are arbitrary and he knows it.

Don't falter now, hold on, we've got this!

This is no B2C negotiation. It's a beautiful B2B deal in the making.

"Ah, you're back."

"Be well."

"Channeling transmigrating souls, right?"

"Goodbye."

"He did?" A look of alarm.

"Hello again."

"I believe we have. The fee is two point five million."

"I haven't been completely honest with you. I knew who you were the moment you started asking after Tempo: the 'Opera cunt'. He was hoping you'd come."

"I left it over in the conversation pit."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about the negotiations themselves, I'm just a 'friend of Oskar's', as they say."

"If you are a friend of Tempo, you would know to check the shrine near the Bazaar."

"Just look at this mess..." he mutters to himself."

"Never. And Tempo never met him either. He only ever dealt with his subordinates."

"Oh -- wait. Pardon me. We've met before, yes. My cat got out somehow, all the chaos of the cleaners I'm sure. What can I, what can I do for you?"

"Please, the kibble. You can have your exit papers as soon as you've brought it."

"That's a little excessive, don't you think? Two and a half mil is fine."

As far as Reno's toy train goes, all you need to do is glue two pieces of plastic together.

You have already repaired your model train, you have nothing else to do here -- for now.

You return to the lone payphone.

You know this voice. It's the man at the top of the financial pile -- Mr. Reno himself.

He looks through you with a gaze at once arrogant and detached, as though he didn't remember you and didn't care to try.

It's Reno. The richest man in Portofiro here, in this dilapidated houseboat.

"I know. He's the spasm-watcher."

"You alright, Ramses?"