The cop never got to hear the answer to his request. Hunter’s fist caught him on his right cheek and sent him flying through a shop window into a pyramid of cheap souvenir tea mugs sporting King Andrew’s heavily photoshopped face. The young woman never noticed the scuffle, she stood rocksteady on the black car’s formidable hood. Hunter guessed she was saturated with Uber-c***k. Whether she was an impromptu revolutionary or an agent provocateur, it hardly mattered. She scanned the crowd, the square, the universe perhaps. She spotted and flipped off the sniper and swung her pole. The Spirit of Ecstasy exploded into silver shards and flew off into the surrounding, frenzied crowd. She raised the pole against the gunmetal sky, the light of the advertising screen turning the primitive weapon int
