He fished a bottle of hand sanitizer out of one of his pockets. It broke his hold on me, and I drew my right arm back, and hit him a short uppercut into his gut. I ignored the anger, because it didn't get me anywhere to pay attention to it. Let's go on the theory that it is following us, I said.
How sick? he asked, and there was a note of something in his empty voice now, something I couldn't quite place. The one in the billed cap said something that I couldn't hear through the windows. There was that look that comes on a man's face when he's sure of you, sure of what will happen. The murmurs of the crowd, the strange applause for a performance they could not have fullyunderstood, the feel of Kesselman’s hand on his arm, all faded away.
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