We walked to the long graffiti wall, and Nigel plucked some stencils from his pack. “Hold this right here,” he said as he aimed a can of bronze paint at the stencil. I pushed on the stencil. Nigel worked the gear stencils carefully and built a complex Rube Goldberg machine on the freeway sound wall. I glanced back from time to time and saw the skaters edge closer to watch the action. He finished it off with a blue Tardis.
One of the kids stepped forward. “You’re Dr. Who?”
Nigel stood back and kept his eyes on his work. “Maybe. Maybe not.” Nigel nodded to me. I figured he meant this was the time for me to ask questions.
“I’m looking for Butterfly.” I wiped my hands on my jeans and walked over to the kid. “You happen to know the rat who covered up 911’s portrait of her?” I showed him the
