"You looking for something, mister?" asked a voice near him.
Craig turned to find a middle-aged man eying him from the doorway of an empty building.
"I got it," the man added.
"Got what?" Craig asked.
"Anything a guy just outa the can would want."
"What would a 'guy just outa the can' want that you have?" Craig examined the weathered, sharp face. It was an unpleasant one, but it belonged to this street; it would do to tell him what he wanted to know of the place.
"Follow me." The man quickly inserted a magnikey into the door of the vacant store building.
"There's a station just up the street," Craig warned.
"Sure. So what?"
The empty room was dusty and dark and received little light through the grimy display windows that faced on the street. What kind of store it had been, Craig could not guess. The man led him through a kind of storage room which was piled high with moldy paper cartons and back to a rear door. With quick, dextrous movements, the man swung an ancient bar assembly and pushed open the rear door. It led to a litter-strewn yard enclosed by rough, eroded shacks and a wooden garage.