The big coupe shot by, its turbine humming. I glimpsed three faces. Something ripped. I felt the hot exhaust on my ankles as the big coupe swerved back into the street. A thick cloud like a black flower blossomed from its jouncing rear end, while from the fishhooks flew a black shimmering rag.
"Did they get you?" I asked the girl.
She had twisted around to look where the side of her skirt was torn away. She was wearing nylon tights.
"The hooks didn't touch me," she said shakily. "I guess I'm lucky."
I heard voices around us:
"Those kids! What'll they think up next?"
"They're a menace. They ought to be arrested."
Sirens screamed at a rising pitch as two motor-police, their rocket-assist jets full on, came whizzing toward us after the coupe. But the black flower had become a thick fog obscuring the whole street. The motor-police switched from rocket assists to rocket brakes and swerved to a stop near the smoke cloud.