Chapter 11
I traded the seedy solitude of Port Drive for the slightly sleazier late night bustle of Main and continued toward my ride at as brisk of a walk as I could manage. I didn’t run, nothing says I’m doing something illegal, please arrest me quite like a giant Indian running with a birdcage under his arm. Even walking I drew more attention than I was comfortable with, but the passing pedestrians confined their attention to guarded glances as they hurried past me. Mostly it was the cage they were looking at. Two cop cars rolled past a minute apart, no lights or noise. Happily they ignored me, and I returned the favor. The other passing drivers showed no interest in me at all.
As I think I’ve said before, there are advantages of being an ass-ugly seven-foot-tall Indian. When folks en
