That scrawny kid back there was clearly a bottom-feeder from some local g**g, the kind of low-life who’d likely scurry off to find ten or twenty of his "brothers" to come back and seek a pathetic revenge for his bruised ego. I knew this neighborhood, and I knew the rules of the neon nightlife: when the steel pipe comes out, you don't stick around for the second act.
"Is there a place around here where we can grab a drink? Somewhere quiet," Eva White asked, her voice surprisingly steady despite the near-miss with the thug.
I was taken aback. I had expected her to want a ride back to the high-security gates of the Riverwood Estates. "You want to keep drinking?" I asked, looking back over my shoulder.
"I’m not ready to go home and face that house," she muttered, staring at the blurred ligh
