Where to go? Where? The Bridge was out, and the Manhattan Bridge was even worse—nothing but a festering half mile of drug distilleries and arms dealerships. The Scorchers would sweep through every month or so to keep their arrest numbers high. Red didn’t know what was worse these days—jeeks mashed on the latest chemicals, or the Scorchers acting all superior behind their bulletproof cop gear. His mom was right about one thing: you never, ever , trust the police.