They passed the Sioux National Theater again. A performance had apparently just ended, and a flood of men and women looking much better-dressed than the pedestrians further west on Pershing were crowding the sidewalk, signaling for taxis or retrieving their own cars from valets. For a single, tense moment, Falcon thought he’d lost Knife-Edge. He pushed through the crowd, winning some curses and another elbow in the ribs. Where is he? Falcon thought, then spotted his prey again. He wasn't more than forty meters ahead, still heading east.