“It’s what you might call a Pyrrhic victory, if you had any classical training,” el Haddiz said conversationally. “Did you know—”

A shadow flickered at the corner of Martin’s eyes, a big shadow. El Haddiz tried to turn to meet the threat.

He met the oncoming piledriver of the Hulk’s fist.

El Haddiz’s gun fell in between Martin’s knees and slid to a stop against his shoes. The Hulk grabbed el Haddiz’s collar and yanked him upright.

“No guns on club property, fuckhead,” the Hulk grunted, and slammed a fist into his stomach. Several times. When he let the smaller man go, el Haddiz crumpled to the ground and stayed there.

“Thanks,” Martin said quite calmly. The Hulk shrugged.

“No sweat.”

“Now help me stop these people from taking the shirts.”

The Hulk’s friendly smile slipped. “Hey, man, I told you, no way. You stop ’em.”

Martin tried to stand up.

Lights out.

Chapter Forty

Robby

Robby hated to admit it, but Velvet had been right. She was so tired it was an effort to walk in a straight line, and her eyes ached from crying. She’d collected only two wallets, and the second had nearly been a fumble; if the guy hadn’t been dead drunk, he couldn’t have failed to notice. Her throat felt dry and scratchy, her skin uncomfortably warm. Not only exhaustion, though that was part of it—she was coming down with something. A cold. The flu.

She’d had to pay a cover charge to get into the Gear-box, but she was ready to forfeit the five bucks just to get outside where it was cool. God, she felt bad. As she fought her way through the writhing sweating crowd on the dance floor—and collected another wallet, almost against her will—she had to catch her balance against their bodies. Nobody noticed. Half of them were staggering anyway.

She shed her leather coat on the way to the door and folded it over her arm. By the time she’d pushed past the last tight knot of drunks at the door, she’d lost it, dropped somewhere on the dirty floor. A bouncer tried to tell her she couldn’t come back in once she’d left, but she shoved past him and made it into the cool blessed air.

The shock of sleet felt wonderful on her overheated skin. She tilted her face up to it and felt some of the dizziness recede.

Nausea boiled up without any warning at all. She leaned over and vomited into the gutter, clinging helplessly to the rough oily wood of a telephone pole. You look ridiculous, she thought in between heaves. Dressed like a whore, vomiting in the gutter. Just like Velvet.