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want your blood."
    Night Owl leaned forward, at the same time sliding her left hand back along the arm of her chair, bringing it closer to her pistol. "They don't know what I look like," she said slowly. "Unless someone has given them a description of me."
    Hothead carefully placed his hands, palms down, on the table. His eyes never left Night Owl's, even when her left hand started its slide under the back of her jacket.
    "They don't need a description," he said. "They have a vidpic of you. They got it out of Wharf Rat's eye."
    Night Owl blinked, then brought her hand back in front of her, resting it on the table again. "Frag—I didn't know his eye was cybered." She'd noticed that one eye was gold instead of the runner's natural brown, but she'd assumed it was a contact—like Hothead's dramatic red lenses.
    She'd also just been told that Wharf Rat was dead. Night Owl was suddenly sorry that she'd suspected Hothead. He was a friend—he was sitting here talking to her, when she was probably the last person in the world he wanted to be seen with right now.
    "Thanks, Hothead," she said. "I owe you one." Hothead smiled. "I know. Don't worry—I'll call the debt in someday."
    The waitress returned with two trays of 'kaf and water, balancing Night Owl's fries on the inside of one forearm. As she set them down on the table, Hothead glanced again at the door.
    Hothead drained his coffee in several quick swallows, then rose from the table. Without a word of farewell, he left Night Owl sitting with her fries and 'kaf and weaved his way between the crowded tables to the front of the restaurant. Night Owl watched him walk out into the night and tried to decide whether to finish her meal and go or hang tight in the restaurant. Either way, the gangers might find her.
    She decided to let fate choose for her. Digging her lucky SkyTrain token out of her pocket, she flipped it into the air. Heads she'd stay; tails she'd turn and run. Just as she caught it in midflight and slapped it down on the back of her right hand, however, something made her look up. The street kid she'd talked to earlier was coming in through the door. He was nervous and looking for someone; her. As soon as he saw Night Owl, he ran to the table where she sat, almost colliding with a waitress along the way.
    "Hey, lady, you'd better fly. There's some heavy people looking for you."
    Night Owl pushed back her chair and looked at the coin on the back of her hand. Tails. She shoved it into a pocket as she stood up. "Where? How many?"
    "Outside. Two men—Chinese, by the sound of 'em. They got out of a gray ragtop and crossed the street to your bike, and were scannin' it like they knew it. Then they looked up and down the street. They asked if I saw where the person riding the bike went, and I said I'd tell them for five nuyen. They liked that. I pointed them down the street, to the New Millennium
    Arcade . Stupid fraggers didn't even realize that you don't park a bike two blocks away from where you're going, especially in drekky weather like this."
    "I'm impressed," Night Owl said. She was already on her feet and moving to the front door. She had every reason to believe the kid—if he had tried to snag a few more nuyen by selling her out, she'd already be dead. So would most of the other poor fraggers in the restaurant. She tossed a small-denomination credstick at the waitress, telling her to keep the change, and peered out through the restaurant's front window. The kid pointed out the car—a turbocharged Saab Dynamit convertible that looked like it could crank some serious Ks. She didn't see anyone lingering near the sports car, and none of the people who were scurrying along the Drive under umbrellas looked like the gangers the kid had described.
    "Stay inside until I'm gone," Night Owl warned him. "I don't want you in my way."
    The kid grinned. He'd understood what she really meant.
    Night Owl pulled on her gauntlets and positioned the night-vision goggles on her