Two words: Coked up. Or Nose Candy. Or Toot Sweet. Take your pick.

Myron's best chance was to confuse and strike. Risky.

You wanted to piss them off, to upset their already-tipsy equilibrium. But at the same time, you wanted to control it, to know when to back off a bit. A delicate balance requiring Myron Bolitar, darling of the high wire, to perform high above the crowd without the benefit of a safety net.

Once again Crusty asked, "Why the fuck you following me, asshole?"

"Maybe I'm just attracted to you," Myron said.

"Even if you don't have an ass."

Beneath started cackling. "Oh man, oh man, let's fuck him up. Let's fuck him up good."

Myron tried to give them the tough guy look. Some mistook this for constipation, but he was getting better at it. Practice. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Oh no?" It was Crusty. "Give me one good reason why we don't just fiick you up. Give me one good reason why I don't break every fucking rib in your body with this." He raised the tire iron. In case Myron thought he was being too subtle.

+ ' 'You asked before if I thought you were stupid,' ' Myron said.

"Yeah, so?"

"So do you think I'm stupid? Do you think somebody who meant you harm would be dumb enough to follow you in here knowing what was about to go down?"

That made all three of them pause.

"I followed you," Myron continued, "as a test."

"What the fuck you talking about?"

"I work for certain people. We won't mention names." Mostly, Myron thought, because he didn't know what the hell he was talking about. "Let's just say they are in a business you guys frequent."

"Frequent?" More nose rubbing. Toot, sweet, toot, _

sweet. '

"Frequent," Myron repeated. "As in occurring or appearing quite often or at close intervals. Frequent."

"What?"

Jesus. "My employer," Myron said, "he needs someone to handle certain territory. Somebody new. Somebody who wants to make ten percent on sales and get all the free blow they can."

Eyes went buggy.

Beneath turned to Crusty. "You hear that, man?"

"Yeah, I hear him."

"Shit, we don't get no commission from Eddie," Beneath went on. "The fucker is so small-time." He gestured at Myron with the tire iron. "This guy, man, look how fucking old he is. He's gotta be working for somebody with juice."

"Got to be," Escape added.

The Crusty One hesitated, squinted suspicion. "How did you find out about us?"

Myron shrugged. "Word gets around." Shovel, shovel.

"So you was just following me for some kinda fucking test?"

"Right"

"Just came to the mall and decided to follow me?"

"Something like that."

Crusty smiled. He looked at Escape and at Beneath.

His grip on the tire iron tightened. Uh-oh. "Then how the fuck come you were asking about me last night, huh?

How come you want to know about a call I made?"

Uh-oh.