Tom noticed the heavy frying pan in the man’s other hand. ‘You hit the guy with that?’ he asked.

‘The use of force is unfortunate,’ his rescuer commented, ‘but sometimes necessary.’ He paused. ‘Greetings, Tom Anderson.’

‘Jicaque?’ asked Tom, shell-shocked.

‘Sometimes,’ agreed the old man almost regretfully. ‘I prefer being Johnny Oldman, lately arrived in Manhattan as deputy head chef of Vegetarian Kitchen.’ He brightened. ‘You know, my egg rolls are the finest in Midtown.’

Tom just stared at him dumbly.

‘But what am I thinking?’ the old man went on. ‘You’ve had a terrible ordeal. You need a strong cup of java. I know someplace we can go.’

The old man headed back to the street down the alleyway, still clutching the frying pan.

Tom watched him go, his spirit shaken. This daffy old guy was really Jicaque, fabled medicine man and scourge of ’wolves across the USA? It was a blistering anti-climax.

Heavy-hearted, Tom was about to follow him, when he noticed the door in the wall leading to the kitchens of the restaurant. It was bolted shut and secured with a large padlock. So how the hell did Jicaque get out here?

With a shiver of fear and anticipation, Tom followed the old man as he turned left towards the hustle of the brighter streets.

*

Kate dreaded the task ahead of her as Stacy turned the car into the street where Ramone had his hideout. She’d tried rehearsing what she was going to tell Jasmine and Rico, but the words kept coming out all wrong.

Something else was wrong, too.

A sleek, dark stretch limousine was parked outside the slum tenements. It looked incongruous with the housing projects crowding the skyline behind it.

‘That’s weird,’ Stacy observed, slowing down. ‘What would a limo be doing here?’

‘Look,’ Kate said. ‘There’s someone coming out.’ A stooped, bedraggled-looking man was trudging down the steps leading up to the hangout. Something glinted in his hand; metal or glass perhaps, but she couldn’t tell what.

‘That’s Dr Woollard,’ Stacy reported. ‘I didn’t think he ever left his house. Why would he come to Ramone’s now?’

She was about to honk on the horn to attract his attention, but Kate grabbed her by the wrist to stop her. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. ‘Look.’

A skinny figure had emerged from the limousine to greet Woollard. He was ghoulish-looking, deathly pale, his features bunched up together in the middle of his pockmarked face. His white-blond hair was shaved back to stubble. As he ushered Woollard into the back of the car, he smiled, baring a sharp set of teeth.

‘Takapa,’ Kate breathed. ‘The one who’s making all this shit happen.’

Stacy nodded. ‘God help us, it looks like Woollard’s pitched in with him.’

Chapter Twelve

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CHAPTER TWELVE