Briefly, the moving shadow of a sports car swept along the busy broiling street like a dagger-shaped cloud. Thumbs snorted in contempt. Fragging tourists getting a 45kph look-see at the amusing local inhabitants. Most of the crumbling buildings in this part of the sprawl were only shells, burned-out ruins from that fiery night in Miami three years ago. The Night of Law, the gov called it. But that wasn’t what they called it on the street. Fragging cops had come out shooting with everything they had. And not too many people had dared bother a tourist ever since. Much less eat one, the way the Morlocks had.