I ditched the three-wheeler a couple of blocks from the Cheeseburger in Paradise, using every shred of tradecraft I could muster to spot anyone who was affording me an abnormal degree of interest. I didn't seem to have any shadows, but it's a tenet of the street that you'll never spot anyone who's successfully shadowing you, right? As I approached the door of the tavern, I saw a reflection of myself in a store window. My flowered shirt was tom down one side, my pants were stained in places with something I hoped was mud (and not residue from Tokudaiji's blasted skull), and I still had hibiscus twigs in my fragging hair. I had looked better, I had to admit. I did what damage control I could under the circumstances—damn near squat, to be honest—and then I jandered into Cheeseburger in Paradise.