"Make him an African, or a Swede," said Delphia. He swerved around a slow-moving truck and found himself staring at the aft end of a Lone Star cruiser. The steel hotel in the back seat was empty and the two norms in the front were vigorously polishing their riot guns, obviously in the mood for a little Overtown head-bashing. Increasing the tint in the windows, Delphia slowed by tiny increments until the natural flow of traffic separated them from the street patrol.