He hands her the evidence pouch with the flake in it. The Cambodian lady places the flake under a microsope equipped with a video monitor and activates it. Another old lady smoking a pipe watches also.
The video reveals the flake magnified at a microscopic view, it's a bright glowing teal color not unlike the market's long line of neon.
CAMBODIAN LADY: I think it was manufactured, look. Finest quality. Superior workmanship.
She pans the scope to the left until it reveal a 'micro-thorn' with a serial number embedded at it's base.
CAMBODIAN LADY: There is a maker's serial number 9906947-XB71. Interesting. Not fish. Snake scale.
CAMBODIAN LADY: Try Abdul ben Hassan. He make the snake.
And she points down the row. Deckard gives the Cambodian lady a nod of appreciation and makes his way through the crowd to find Abdul's merchant place. The aisles of the market are filled with scurrying merchants, some with animals in tow.
Every nook and cranny is filled with marketable products - consumables, horses, birds, fish, and other animals. Deckard gives a wide birth to a merchant who is herding a couple of large Ostrich's hogging the aisle.
CUT TO EGYPTIANS JOINT: He find Abdul's store and gives a double tap on the glass front to get Abdul's attention. Abdul smiles and waves a hand of welcome to come in.
DECKARD: Abdul Hassan?
Abdul has a snake draped around his neck, and wearing multiple pairs of eye spectacles. He spreads his arms and hands open wide as if to show off his place to a potential customer.
DECKARD: I'm a police officer, I'd like to ask you a few questions. Artificial snake license XB71, that's you? This is your work, huh? Who'd you sell it to?
ABDUL: My work? Not too many could afford such quality.
DECKARD: How many?
ABDUL: Very few.
DECKARD: How few? . . . Look!
Deckard grabs Abdul's tie forcefully to let him know he means business.
ABDUL: Taffey Lewis's, down in First Sector, Chinatown.
Deckard heads to the First Sector, it's blaring with city noises as pedestrians, vehicles, and bicycle riders snake their way through the crowded street. A cop guides Deckard to where Taffey's bar is.
He's near a bar front where two dancers wearing hockey masks are showing off their moves in a glass encased cylinder stage.
CUT TO INT. TAFFY'S SNAKE PIT BAR: Deckard enters the bar, it's even more packed than the street he just left. Music is thumping away loudly and the interor is lit with dozens of wall candles. He approaches the bar where glitter dressed patrons are eating, drinking and toking on long pipes.
DECKARD: Bartender? . . . Taffey Lewis?
The bartender points at Taffey who is sitting just a few bar stools away.
DECKARD: Thank you.
Deckard approaches Taffey and flashes his police badge.
DECKARD: Taffey . . .
DECKARD: I'd like to ask you a few questions.
Taffey, a balding man, looks like a combination of shady used car salesman, a mobster, and all around weasel draped with flashy rings on most of his fingers. He turns to speak to a lady, heavy with make up, sitting next to him.
TAFFY: Blow with me
The lady gives up her seat to Deckard.
DECKARD: You ever buy snakes from the Egyptian, Taffey?
TAFFEY: All the time, pal.
Deckard pulls out the photo of the reclining woman and shows it to Taffey, who is stuffing his face with food.
DECKARD: You ever see this girl, huh?
TAFFEY: Never seen her, buzz off.
DECKARD: Your licenses in order pal?
TAFFEY: Hey Louie, the man is dry. Give him one on the house, ok? . . . See ya.
Taffey gives Deckard a smile and takes off as the bartender hands Deckard the complimentary drink.
Deckard looks bored and discouraged. He's looking at the photos he brought with him and comes across the picture of Rachael as a child with her mother. He decides to give Rachael a call.
Deckard is at a video phone near the bar entrance and punches up Rachael's number. Rachael appears on the telephone vid-screen.