He was referring to his Streetline Special, a cheap composite gun that he had tucked into the top of one of his heavy black motorcycle boots. I’d scorned it as touchy and unreliable—Rafael was more likely to blow his own foot off by "holstering" it than he was to hit anything in a firefight—but now I was glad of the backup. This dragon’s next meal was going to bite back. But for now, the only thing to do was wait—and try to enjoy the view.