was him. Art watched
Tom cock his head to jog his memory, and then saw Tom recognize him. Uh-oh.

"We have to go. Now," he said to Fede, standing and walking away quickly, hand
going to his comm. He stopped short of dialing 999, though -- he wasn't up for
another police-station all-nighter. He got halfway up Picadilly before looking
over his shoulder, and he saw Fede shouldering his way through the lunchtime
crowd, looking pissed. A few paces behind him came Tom, face contorted in a
sadistic snarl.

Art did a little two-step of indecision, moving towards Fede, then away from
him. He met Tom's eyes again, and Tom's ferocious, bared teeth spurred him on.
He turned abruptly into the tube station, waved his comm at a turnstile and dove
into the thick of the crowd heading down the stairs to the Elephant and Castle
platform. His comm rang.

"What is *wrong* with you, man?" Fede said.

"One of the guys who mugged me," he hissed. "He was sitting right across from
us. He's a couple steps behind you. I'm in the tube station. I'll ride a stop
and catch a cab back to the office."

"He's behind me? Where?"

Art's comm lit up with a grainy feed from Fede's comm. It jiggled as Fede
hustled through the crowd.

"Jesus, Fede, stop! Don't go to the goddamned tube station -- he'll follow you
here."

"Where do you want me to go? I got to go back to the office."

"Don't go there either. Get a cab and circle the block a couple times. Don't
lead him back."

"This is stupid. Why don't I just call the cops?"

"Don't bother. They won't do shit. I've been through this already. I just want
to lose that guy and not have him find me again later."

"Christ."

Art squeaked as Tom filled his screen, then passed by, swinging his head from
side to side with saurian rage.

"What?" Fede said.

"That was him. He just walked past you. He must not know you're with me. Go back
to the office, I'll meet you there."

"That dipshit? Art, he's all of five feet tall!"

"He's a fucking psycho, Fede. Don't screw around with him or he'll give you a
Tesla enema."

Fede winced. "I hate tazers."

"The train is pulling in. I'll talk to you later."

"OK, OK."

Art formed up in queue with the rest of the passengers and shuffled through the
gas chromatograph, tensing up a little as it sniffed his personal space for
black powder residue. Once on board, he tore a sani-wipe from the roll in the
ceiling, ignoring the V/DT ad on it, and grabbed the stainl