But then he remembered hearing one of the First Nation "elder statesmen"—a tough-talking Haida who must have been at least nineteen—bragging about how he’d been stitched up after a rumble by a shadow cutter who worked out of a defunct restaurant near Sixth and Blanchard. That was enough to get Falcon started, and a few cautious queries made of some squatters he’d almost tripped over helped him find the spot.