Iggy and the Gasman landed on the sidewalk next to Fang, and they quickly scrambled to their feet. After some of the situations they’d been in, getting thrown onto the sidewalk like trash wasn’t that bad, but it meant that Fang’s big plan had bombed. He dusted off his pants, opened the deli bag, and passed out squashed sandwiches as they made their way back to the safe house. WWMD? Fang wondered. What would Max do? Besides let a murderous creep into their lives, that is.

“No go, eh?” Keez was honing a switchblade on a spinning metal wheel.

“Nope.”

“You shoulda whooshed out those wings, man,” he said. “I saw you guys on the news once. You got them wicked wings, right? That woulda done it for sure.”

“Uh, I didn’t want to resort to cheap tricks,” Fang muttered. Plus, he hadn’t thought of it. Keez was right. That would have worked like a charm. Shoot.

On to Plan...H?

77

“The plan is hot dogs?” said the Gasman, enthusiastically wolfing down his second one. “I like this plan!”

Fang did a quick 360, but this section of El Prado had only the usual assortment of dealers, homeless people, and Ghosts. Nothing too threatening.

“The plan is not hot dogs,” Fang said, wiping his fingers on his jeans. “We’re just killing time till the real plan falls into place.” Of course, there was no real plan—yet. But Fang was the leader of this particular flock, and leaders always had to look confident, even when they were blowing smoke. Another lesson he’d learned from Max.

“All right, my man,” Keez said to the hot-dog vendor, and shook his hand. Fang gathered that Keez had just been comped about a dozen hot dogs in return for the vendor’s safety on this street. Interesting.

Iggy was halfway through his fourth hot dog when he suddenly froze in midchew. Fang watched his face alertly.

“What?” he said.

“Crud,” Iggy said, throwing down his hot dog. “Flyboys.”

“You guys scatter!” Fang told Keez quickly. “We’ve got trouble, but they’re only after us.”

“How do they keep finding us?” the Gasman wailed, then stuffed the rest of his hot dog into his mouth.

“We’ll stay!” Keez said, pulling out his cell phone.

“No, man, you don’t under—” was as far as Fang got before he heard the buzzing, and then it was too late.

There were about eighty of them, and they swarmed above the roof of a nearby building like a cloud of wasps.

“What the heck is that?” said Keez. Already other Ghosts were pouring out of buildings, running up the street.

“Robots,” Fang said tersely, and unfolded his wings. “You guys should split.”

He heard a couple of gasps, and one Ghost said, “Holy Mother.”

“We’re staying,” said Keez, and he pulled out his switchblade. He waved his arms at his troops, yelling over the increasing noise. “Fan out!”