What that meant to me now was that I could be confident of getting a line on Pud the Prowler. It didn't cost me too much in time or nuyen. It was just a matter of strolling Twenty-third, overtipping blatantly for an indigestible breakfast from the local soykaf stand, then paying for five packs of Js but "neglecting" to take them, and finally buying another breakfast at another spot-a meal I donated to a couple of squatters in an alley. And, all the time, talking to everyone, asking about the Prowlers in general and a young ork named Pud in particular. As Rosebud might have put it, it was a "no-brainer." Within an hour, I had enough background that I could probably have written a pamphlet called, "A Day in the Life of Pud and his Chummer Fitz." Pud and Fitz-a troll, natch-were given to greeting the day with a round of red-eyes at The Mill, a neighborhood watering hole. After that, their schedule took them to an assortment of pool halls and simsense arcades, punctuated by cruises around their turf. Then they'd cap the day off with massive substance-abuse sessions near the reservoir, and maybe a nice, diverting little rumble (or whatever) with the Ladies from Hades, an all-female gang who claimed the territory on the other side of Shaw Road.