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first and then speeding up. He broke his step and heard the person behind him pause, so he stopped and turned on his heel, but the street was dark with plenty of shadows for people to hide in. Rad saw nothing, and the night was silent.
    Rad mentally counted off the bullets in his gun as he recalled loading it that afternoon. He wondered how accurate it was and over what distance; it really was a small gun designed for point-blank defense, and he hadn’t had much of a chance to test it.
    If this was Harlem at night – the safe time to visit – then during the day it must be a virtual no-mans-land.
    Rad pulled his collar higher and kept walking. He had somewhere to go, and someone to meet.
    Kane Fortuna.
    Rad shook his head and kept his eyes on the sidewalk. Kane had returned? Was the caller telling the truth? Rad dared to hope he would see his friend again: Kane Fortuna, the Sentinel’s former star reporter, with a misguided career as the Skyguard cut short by a little trip through the Fissure. That was eighteen months ago, and despite searches on both sides of the dimensional divide in New York and the Empire State, his body had never been found.
    Rad had assumed Kane was dead, that if you went into the Fissure on one side and didn’t come out the other, then the universe had chewed you up and that was that. Maybe he’d been too quick to jump to that conclusion, but he really wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to think.
    Rad picked up the pace as he thought about his old friend. If Kane was alive and well, Rad was prepared to forgive him the naivety that had led him to be influenced by the wrong side. Rad knew Kane; they would talk, and Kane would listen, and they’d work everything out.
    Maybe. Rad tightened his grip on the gun in his pocket, and turned a corner. Ahead, on the opposite side of the street, the neon sign of a tavern glowed, a rainbow halo thrown around it as the ice crystals hanging in the air reflected the light.
    Rad needed a drink, and some time to think, and a chance to lose his tail.
    Smiling beneath his scarf, he skipped up to the door, and went inside.
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    The tavern was the same as any that Rad had ever been in. Though, if he thought about it, the only establishment he’d ever been in was Jerry’s, near his office, despite the fact that there was no Prohibition anymore and the sale and consumption of alcohol no longer attracted the death penalty. But Rad liked Jerry’s and wasn’t interested in trying anywhere else. Jerry was also rather accommodating when it came to the matter of his tab.
    The place was empty, save a barman in a blue shirt, his back to the room. Rad checked his watch, which showed it was eleven in the evening. Maybe the night was young in Harlem. If the daytime was dangerous, then maybe it was at night when it all came to life, like Harlem was operating on an opposing timetable to the rest of the Empire State. Maybe, thought Rad, he’d been a little early, which would explain the person following him and the lack of patrons in the tavern.
    Rad slunk to the bar, took off his hat, and unwrapped his scarf as he perched on a stool. Rad waited a moment while the barman did a fine job of ignoring the only customer in the joint, then he tapped his fingers on the bar.
    The barman turned to face him, wiping a glass with a towel. He was a young man, his features sharp, his eyes narrow and his hair so greasy it made Rad’s own shaved scalp crawl. He looked like he was chewing something, but whether it was gum or a bad attitude, Rad wasn’t sure.
    â€œYou open?” Rad said. It wasn’t the best icebreaker, but he was nervous, more nervous than he realized. He’d been followed through what had felt like a completely empty, alien world. He didn’t like it, and now he had a surly barman to contend with.
    â€œYeah, we’re open,” said the barman. Rad tried a smile and the barman returned the expression,