Bug Trap

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Reflections from neon and LEDon lights washed across the rain-soaked night streets like smears of wet paint. They looked like they might be scribing out encrypted messages in obscure calligraphies, useful information there for the deciphering. Maybe even directions out of my present difficulties.

There was no time to stop and study such phenomena. A box was closing around me, iron sides grinding inexorably closer.

I knew this part of the city pretty well, most of the secret places and hidden sanctuaries. But so did those who were on my ass and after my head. The NYPD had exerted varying degrees of control over this patch of turf since the days of horse-drawn paddy wagons, and their badge-bearing minions knew it the way a hunter knows the patch of woods just outside his back door. The Chrome Lords lacked the law’s sweeping history, but easily matched the cops in street-nav, numbers of troops, and weapons. Two sides, polar opposites, closing in with the same objective: to find and crush what was trapped between them.

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