I ignored the Old One’s suggestion that I bite the throat out of the cop I’d stunned, and then headed for the street. I dropped to one knee in the shadow of a parked car. looked about quickly, then sprinted across the street. I leaped to the hood of the Ford Mardi Gras, then up and over the concertina-topped fence of the salvage yard. Though my flight was none too stylish and despite the muddy footing, I struck the landing. To my disappointment, however, I found nary an Olympic vaulting judge in sight to grant me the true acclaim I deserved.