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seemed to be widening. If Myron lost him, it would be yet another missed opportunity. The ties to what Win had seen yesterday—the ties to Patrick and Rhys—were tenuous at best. If this kid got away, it could be game over.
    Dog Collar veered around the street lamp and out of sight. Damn. No chance, Myron thought. No chance of catching up.
    And then Dog Collar went flying.
    His legs were up in the air, his body horizontal to the ground. Someone had done the simplest thing in the world.
    Someone had stuck out his foot and tripped him.
    Win.
    Dog Collar was splayed on his belly. Myron made the turn. Win barely glanced his way before disappearing into the shadows. Myron hurried over and straddled Dog Collar. He spun him onto his back. Dog Collar covered his face and waited for the blows.
    The kid’s voice was pitiful. “Please . . .”
    “I’m not going to hurt you,” Myron said. “Just calm down. It’s going to be all right.”
    It took another few seconds before he lowered his hands away from his face. There were tears in his eyes now.
    “I promise,” Myron said, “I’m not going to hurt you. Okay?”
    The boy nodded through the tears, but you could see he didn’t believe a word of it. Myron risked rolling off him. He helped him sit up.
    “Let’s try this again,” Myron said. “Do you know the boy who ran away yesterday, the one they were fighting over?”
    “The other American,” Dog Collar said. “He your friend?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “He killed all three of them, like he was taking a stroll. Just sliced them up without a care.”
    Myron tried another avenue. “Did you know those guys?”
    “Course. Terence, Matt, and Peter. Used to beat the shit out of me, all three of them. If I had a pound in my pocket, they wanted me to give them two.” He looked up at Myron. “If you had something to do with it, well, I’d shake your hand.”
    “I didn’t,” Myron said.
    “You just want the boy they was hassling.”
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    “It’s a long story. He’s in need of rescue.”
    Dog Collar frowned.
    “Do you know him, yes or no?”
    “Yeah,” Dog Collar said. “Course I know him.”
    “Can you take me to him?”
    Some wariness came back to the kid’s eyes. “You still got the five hundred pounds?”
    “I do.”
    “Give it to me now.”
    “How do I know you won’t run again?”
    “Because I saw what your friend did. You’ll kill me if I run.”
    Myron wanted to tell him that wasn’t so, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to keep him scared. Dog Collar stuck out his palm. Myron gave him the five hundred pounds. The kid jammed the money into his shoe.
    “You won’t tell anyone you gave it to me?”
    “No.”
    “Come on, then. I’ll take you to him.”

Chapter 6
    M yron tried to chat up the kid as they hopped on a train at Gospel Oak. For the first part of the ride, the kid jammed in earphones and turned up the volume so loudly Myron could clearly hear the misogynistic lyrics through the kid’s ear canal.
    Myron wondered whether the phone’s signal could still reach Win. When they changed lines at Highbury and Islington, the kid turned off the music and said, “What’s your name?”
    “Myron. What’s yours?”
    “Myron what?”
    “Myron Bolitar.”
    “You’re pretty good with your fists. Took care of Dex like he was wet tissue.”
    Myron wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he said, “Thanks.”
    “Where in the States you from?”
    Curious question. “New Jersey.”
    “You’re a big bloke. You play rugby?”
    “No. I . . . I played basketball in school. How about you?”
    The kid made a scoffing sound. “School. Right. Where did you go to school?”
    “A university called Duke,” Myron said. “What’s your name?”
    “Don’t worry about it.”
    “How come you’re working the streets?” Myron asked.
    The kid tried looking tough, but as with most kids, it came out as more sullen than threatening. “What’s it to you?”
    “I don’t mean it