," Malone said, "to be in an area of some activity. Let's move."

* * * * *

They shifted away a few feet. Malone looked into the foray and saw Boyd
at work roaring and going after the kids. One of them had established a
kind of game with him. He would appear just in front of Boyd, who rushed
at him, arms outstretched. As Boyd had almost reached him, the kid
disappeared and reappeared again just behind Boyd. He tapped the FBI
agent gently on the shoulder; Boyd turned and the process was repeated.

Boyd seemed to be getting winded.

The lieutenant suddenly dashed back into the fray. Malone looked around,
saw Mike Fueyo flickering in and out at the edges, and headed for him.

A cop swung at Mike, missed, and hit Malone on the arm. Malone swore.
The cop backed off, looking in a bewildered fashion for his victim, who
was nowhere in sight. Then Malone caught sight of him, at the other edge
of the fight. He started to work his way around.

He tried to avoid blows, but it wasn't always possible. A reeling cop
caught his lapel and tore it, and Lynch, indefatigable in battle,
managed to graze his chin with a blow meant for one of the disappearing
boys. Other cops were battling each other, going after the kids and
clutching empty air, cursing and screaming unheard orders in the fracas.

Malone ducked past Lynch, rubbed at his chin and looked for Mike. In the
tangle of bodies it was getting hard to see. There was the sound of
breaking ceramics as a floor lamp went over, and then a table followed
it, but Malone avoided both. He looked for Mike Fueyo--

A cop clutched him around the middle, out of nowhere, said: "Sorry,
buddy, who are you?" and dove back into the mass of bodies. Malone
caught his breath and forged onward.

There was Mike, at the edge of the fight, watching everything coolly. No
cop was near him. In the dim light the place looked like a scene from
Hell, a special Hell for policemen. Malone wove through battling hordes
to the edge and came out a few feet away from Mike Fueyo.

Fueyo didn't see him. He was looking at Boyd instead--still stumbling
back and forth as the teen-ager baiting him winked on and off in front
of him and behind him. He was laughing.

Malone came up silently from behind. The trip seemed to take hours. He
was being very quiet, although he was reasonably sure that even if he
yelled he wouldn't be heard. But he didn't want to take the slightest
chance.

He