He pushed the girl from him, sending her sprawling into the choking girl. She looked back at him from the ground, furious, pained . . . scared. He picked up the money again and separated the ten ones from it, which he sent fluttering towards the dead fountain. The rest he put in his pocket. He looked at the knife. ‘I’m takin this, too,’ he said. ‘Not cause I much want it. But cause I don’t want you to have it.’ He slid it into a hook on his belt, just hidden behind his empty holster. Then he walked away, back the way he had come, back to the wider, sunnier streets, knowing that if any of them
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