The big runner squatted in the cover of another car, a dozen meters away. He had a gun in hand, a big automatic, but he wasn’t firing it. The sparks from high-velocity bullets striking off the car’s coachwork told the ganger why. Even through his fear, he could see from the line of Nightwalker’s body that he was in agony. Another bullet wound? No, the runner had moved so fast it was doubtful he’d been hit. But having to run and then dive for cover had probably reopened his wounds.