It was a long walk. Still, I’d had some food, and by whatever cause, I’d had some sleep. I felt a little drowsy and inattentive, but even that was fading away. So I hiked into what was once the warehouse district, before Faerie came back and changed everything about who lived in B-town, and where, and for what reasons. I was passing under one of the old freeway ramps, looking up through a hole in the concrete at the pearly gray of the sky, when I realized I’d seen that hole before. Tick-Tick and I had come this way, in search of her stolen wrench. How long ago? A couple of days?

The further I went on the string that tied me to the black-and-red motorcycle, the more things I recognized. Nah, couldn’t be, I thought, just before I turned the corner and stopped in sight of Walt Felkin’s bunker-like house.

Well, how unlikely was it? One unsavory Townie (Charlie) had associated himself with Rico’s illusionist. Why not another one? Especially one like Walt, with a reported eye for the main chance and the fast buck, and no reported qualms about anything that might have to be done to lay hands on them. In short, a lot like Charlie.

While I thought about all that, I did have the sense to step off the pavement into a pass-through between two buildings, across the street from Felkin’s place. I’d resolved not to be obvious about this, after all.

I leaned against the bricks under a broken fire escape. Water ran down the middle of the passage, headed for a storm drain in the street. Too much to be left over from night-before-last’s rainstorm; someone on the block was emptying a holding tank. That meant someone was around, and awake, and I should be careful about being seen.

Of course, I couldn’t be sure that Walt had any direct contact with the illusionist. He might be fencing the bike for a friend of a friend. He might be repairing it, or repainting it. He might have bought it from someone. Hell, the blasted thing might just be parked next to his property. An actual sight of the bike might tell me more. And whatever Walt’s relationship to Rico’s case, he was at least a real, live person who could answer questions.