And that was when his eyes lit on a familiar face. On the far side of the room, a big man with broad, bulging shoulders was making his way through the crowd toward the front door. Apparently he’d just emerged from some back room behind the stage. He wasn’t looking around him, apparently hadn’t spotted Falcon. Frag it, Falcon thought, it’s Knife-Edge. The leader of the Amerindian runners who’d tried to ambush Sly, the ones with whom Nightwalker had been working in the sprawl.