Skater stepped forward, resting one boot on the wrist of the hand holding the elf's remaining knife. He squatted and slid the Cougar Fine Blade from his boot top. The fear was still moving in him, not so much because of the thrillers as for the other events of the run. Thrillers were an everyday threat in the world, and a chummer could run into trouble with them even if he wasn’t working the mean streets. The arrival of Coleman January’s body at Shastakovich’s Funeral Home across the street bothered Skater most because he couldn’t be sure what it meant. If January had been dead for some time, just sitting on a slab, Skater wouldn’t have felt as threatened as he did now. But the man had rolled onto the scene in a DocWagon van that looked like it had been through some heavy drek. And January was only minutes dead, with who knew what closing up the distance behind him.