the junkie said. “Take my word for it.” There were three of them, all young, tough-looking and white — although, in that neighborhood, they could just as easily have been black or Latino. The local predator population was nothing if not diverse. The young men strutted over to where the junkie was sitting, his back resting against the rear wall of the burned-out building that might have been a drugstore once. The three of them formed a semi-circle around him. It was a menacing formation, and they knew it. And there was menace in the leader’s voice when he said, “Don’t think I caught what you said there, dude. Were you maybe tryin’ to tell us what to do, you worthless piece of shit?” The other two grinned and gazed down at the junkie with contempt. Even before they were close enough to see the tracks running down the arms that were revealed by the sleeveless leather vest he wore for a shirt, they’d known what he was.
