John jerked around, and saw the three kids shuffling past his seat. They grinned at him and the soft-spoken one said, "You don't like it, Adolph? Step off at Benito Street and we'll have it out."
John controlled his rage. "Some other time," he said, voice calm. "I'm capering Upper City today. Maybe you boys would like to declare a truce and come along?"
They all stared at him. Then the one who did all the talking said, "Hell, he's a foul-blood liar!"
"Sure," John said as they slumped into seats. "Follow me to the Split and see."
"Okay," another Son of Musso said. "We will." And the three of them grinned at him.
John grinned back, but he felt far from Aryan inside. Now he wouldn't be able to jet out. Now he'd really have to cross the Split.
He began to sweat, hoping the snake would break down along the route, that a Blast would stop him from crossing, that the Earth would blow up! Anything to keep from having to cross the Split. He knew now that he'd never meant to do it—just take a ride, kill some time, and bluff Pete when he got back.
Ten minutes later, the Last Corner sign lit up at car end. The three Sons of Musso strolled out into the street and waited, standing quietly under the eyes of the Blasts who were always around the dry river bed which separated York from Upper City.
This was the Split, and John had to leave the car. He came out, walked past the three kids toward the span, and stopped at the gate. "One to Upper City," he said, throat dry.
The Blast gave him a sharp look. "Why do you want to go there, boy?"