Uptown a ways, a squat black block cut off the view. A parking structure, hunched all alone in a field of wreckage like a concrete toad. I crossed over, my eyes tracing the upward curve of its ramps until they vanished into shadow. Once it had been filled with shiny cars. I could almost hear their engines humming. Now their twisted remnants spilled down the exit ramp like they’d been puked onto the sidewalk.

The wind was up, sooner than forecast, but the hum was no longer in my head. As I went on alert, listening, it morphed into a low whine. Not the rising gusts, not a boat out on the river. A motor groaning in complaint. Louder now, echoing off the buildings, coming from uptown and fast. Coming my way.

Instinctively, I bolted for cover—into the dark parking structure, past the stove-in cashier’s booth, not stopping till halfway up the first ramp. From there, I peered over a knee wall. The worn street reflected shards of moving light. Tires squealed. Music blared.

Not some late-staying tourists or staid uptowners on a twilight spin. Did Adders drive? Wasn’t this way off their turf? I ran for deeper cover. The machine roar sped down the avenue toward my hiding place. I rounded the curve to the second level and clung to the street-side railing to watch it pass.

Instead, it slowed and turned in with a screech, disappearing right under me. A bright red car, long and low, built for speed, headlamps blue-white and blinding, blasting out the most pounding bass that ever shuddered my chest. Not your common-sense solar sedan. Who still owned such things? Big feet and muscled arms waved out the open windows. A blue swirl of old-fashioned exhaust rose up around me, tugging at my . . . no! Gritting my teeth, I shoved the blossoming memory aside. No time for that now.

I needed a bolt-hole. The car screamed up the curve and past me just as I whipped behind a pillar. Music thumped, male voices whooped. They made a rowdy circuit of the second level, scraping along the retaining walls, slaloming through the maze of junked vehicles, then up the third-level ramp. A series of sharp cracks rang out, each followed by a shattering of glass. Gunfire. And what a soft target I would make.

I plunged into the shadows among the pillars, praying for an exit stair. My outstretched arms found two metal doors, one locked, one chained. Only a moaning updraft saved me from pitching into an empty elevator shaft.

The car crested the third level and began a joyride overhead.

Bam! Bam! Bam!!