The Good, The Bad, And The Uncanny Part 2

Walker sighed into my ear, like a parent disappointed by a stubborn child. "You've been listening to the elf, haven't you, John? You know you can't trust anything an elf says. I am the only one who knows what's really going on here."

"Doesn't matter," I said. "If he's on the opposite side to you, I must be doing the right thing."

"All these years of b.u.t.ting heads," said Walker. "And you haven't learned a d.a.m.ned thing."

The phone went dead. I looked at it for a moment, to see if anyone else felt like calling and sticking their oar in, then I put the phone away. Of course I knew Lord Screech couldn't be trusted. He was an elf. But I'd given him my word, and my word was good. I looked up and down the street. Ms. Fate had better get a move on. Walker hadn't been joking about pinpointing my position through my phone.

There wasn't anywhere handy I could use as a shelter. The clubs and bars in this part of town were so down-market, the bouncers were outside chucking them in, and they forced you to order your drinks at gunpoint. And there was no way I was going back into the Dragon's Mouth.

"Is there any particular reason why you're ignoring me?" said Lord Screech.

"Because I'll get lied to less that way," I said, not looking at the elf. "I know all I need to know."

"Walker was quite right. Never trust anything an elf tells you. We always lie-except when a truth can hurt you more. Or when the truth can be made to serve our best interests over yours. I don't care about you, or Walker, or any other human, except where you can help or hinder my mission."

I didn't ask how he knew it was Walker on the phone.

"If you're trying to be disarming, it isn't working," I said. "And don't even try to be charming. I've got protections against that."

"Why are you helping me, John Taylor? When you know you should know better?"

I looked at him for the first time. "Because I'm intrigued. And not by the terrible secret you've offered as payment, whatever it may or may not turn out to be. I've spent my whole life dealing with terrible secrets. No, what intrigues me is why a high-and-mighty elf lord should endanger himself by coming to the Nightside, then beg help from a human. Even one as special as me. So I'll go along with you, do my best to get you to where you need to be ... and no doubt your true purpose will become clear along the way."

"I wouldn't put money on it," the elf said cheerfully.

Perhaps fortunately, we were interrupted at that point by the approaching roar of a powerful engine. We both looked round and stepped back a little as the Fatemobile surged out of the traffic and slammed to a halt right in front of us. On every side, hardened sinners on their way to infamous dens of iniquity stopped, to get a better look at the Fatemobile. A good twelve feet long and almost as wide, Ms. Fate's crime-fighting motor car was a magnificent machine, with low, powerful lines in a retro sixties style, complete with tall rear fins, a prominent afterburner, and acres and acres of gleaming chrome. It was a shocking fluorescent pink from bonnet to b.u.mper, and had big fluffy wheels. In fact, it wasn't so much pink as PINK! PINK! And instead of the usual silver winged victory figure on the front radiator, the Fatemobile boasted a silver wee-winged faerie in a basque and suspenders. And instead of the usual silver winged victory figure on the front radiator, the Fatemobile boasted a silver wee-winged faerie in a basque and suspenders.

Ms. Fate might have heard of taste, but only as something other people had. Boring people.

"I like it!" said Lord Screech.

"You would," I said.

The heavy driver's door swung open with a puff of compressed air, and Ms. Fate emerged from her car via a single elegant movement I couldn't have copied without throwing my whole back out. Tall and leanly muscular, Ms. Fate wore a black leather super-heroine outfit, cut tightly to show off her long legs and false bosoms. Heavy boots and gauntlets, and a proud horned cowl. Her green eyes shone brightly through polarised eye-slits, and her mouth was a brilliant red. Her utility belt was a bright yellow, presumably so she could find it in the dark. She crashed to a halt before me and struck a pose that was only slightly self-mocking.

"And here I am, to save the day! Ms. Fate, at your service, rogues, villains, and creatures of the night a speciality. Ask me about my special rates for criminal conspiracies. How are you, John?"

"All the better for seeing you," I said. "Where's your cape? I always think you look so more authentic with your cape."

"In the back seat. I have to take it off when I'm driving; I find it restricts my movements too much."

Ms. Fate is the real deal. A genuine old-school super-heroine who just happens to be played by a man.

"We really do need to get a move on," I said. "Walker's people are already on their way here. So fire up the Pink Pan ther mobile, stomp on the pedal, and it's everything forward and trust in the Lord all the way to the Osterman Gate. Stop for nothing and no-one, and I hope all your car's armaments are loaded for bear because we're going to need them."

"You know how to sweet-talk a girl," said Ms. Fate. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your elven friend?"

"This is Lord Screech," I said. "Only he probably isn't. Think of him less as my client and more as cargo to be transported. I'd lock him in the boot if I could trust him out of my sight that long."

"Well," said Ms. Fate, smiling challengingly at Screech. "An elf. How ... exotic."

The elf lord gave her a formal bow, with all the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. "Delighted to meet you. You're a man."

"Not when I'm on duty," said Ms. Fate. "Is my secret ident.i.ty going to be a problem?"

"Not at all," said Screech, smiling easily. "Like all my kind, I delight in all forms of deceit and disguise, and glory in the joys of transformation. We've never understood this human preoccupation with normality. Where's the fun in that?"

"Definitely time to be going," I said. "When an elf starts making sense..."

Ms. Fate laughed and snapped her fingers at the Fatemobile. All the doors swung open. Ms. Fate headed for the driving seat. I looked at Screech.

"You want to do rock, scissors, paper to see who rides shotgun?"

"Only people I trust get to sit beside me in the Fatemobile," said Ms. Fate.

"I'll get in the back seat," said Screech.

"Mind my cloak," said Ms. Fate.

I settled into the pa.s.senger seat while Screech folded his long body almost in two to fit through the backdoor. Sitting down, he had to lean forward to keep from banging his head on the roof, and his knees came up to his chin. He still looked insufferably dignified and aristocratic, but that's elves for you. The Fatemobile's interior was pretty much as I remembered. Lipstick red leather on all the seats, a high-tech dashboard complete with computer displays and weapons systems, and a steering wheel covered in ermine. A bonsai pine tree perched on the dashboard served as an air freshener. Ms. Fate touched the ignition pad with a leather-clad fingertip, and the whole car trembled eagerly.

"Are there many super-heroes in the Nightside?" said Screech, from between his raised knees.

"We prefer the term costumed adventurers," costumed adventurers," said Ms. Fate, running quickly through her car's warm-up checks. "Pretty much everyone and everything turns up here eventually, and there have always been a few of us, making a stand for justice and revenge and the right to kick six different colours of c.r.a.p out of the bad guys. I think we do it for the challenge. No-one does villains like the Nightside. Right, John?" said Ms. Fate, running quickly through her car's warm-up checks. "Pretty much everyone and everything turns up here eventually, and there have always been a few of us, making a stand for justice and revenge and the right to kick six different colours of c.r.a.p out of the bad guys. I think we do it for the challenge. No-one does villains like the Nightside. Right, John?"

"Archetypes and icons have always felt at home in the Nightside," I said. "But super-heroes and super-villains are a bit too innocent to do well here. I think we disappoint them, with our endless shades of grey rather than their preferred black-and-white morality. There have always been a few costumed heroes; the Mystery Avenger, the Lady Phantasm, the Cutting Edge ..."

"And the villains?" said the elf, hopefully.

"Again, we tend more towards colourful characters," I said. "The Painted Ghoul, Jackie Schadenfreude, Penny Dreadful..."

"And remember that awful little poseur, Dr. Delirium?" said Ms. Fate. "Today the Nightside, tomorrow the world?"

"Of course I remember," I said. "Walker had Suzie and me toss his nasty little a.r.s.e out of the Nightside. Last I heard, he was sulking somewhere in the Amazon rain forest, swearing vengeance on the world and trying to build his own private army through ads in the back of Soldier of Fortune Soldier of Fortune magazine. This is what comes of uncles leaving you far too much money." magazine. This is what comes of uncles leaving you far too much money."

"You work for Walker?" said Screech.

"Sometimes," I said. "When he's not trying to have me killed. It's complicated. It's the Nightside."

"Heads up, people," said Ms. Fate. "Company's coming."

They came marching down the street towards us, and everyone else hurried to get out of their way. Striding arrogantly in perfect formation and perfect lock-step, carrying heavy truncheons and pistols holstered on both their hips, in black-and-gold uniforms with reinforced helmets; Walker's very own shock-and-awe troopers. I felt obscurely flattered that Walker had sent his own personal heavies to stop me. It showed a certain respect for my capabilities.

Walker's job was to keep the lid on things, and to do that he could call on support from the Army, the Church, and pretty much anyone else he felt like, along with any number of specialists. But he wasn't usually one for displays of brute force; he tended more towards dividing and conquering and Let's you and him fight, Let's you and him fight, He only sent in the shock-and-awe troopers when he absolutely positively felt the need to stamp on everyone in sight, as an object lesson to others. He must see Lord Screech's Peace Treaty as a threat to the Nightside's status quo... but still, he shouldn't have done it. He must have known I'd take it personally. He only sent in the shock-and-awe troopers when he absolutely positively felt the need to stamp on everyone in sight, as an object lesson to others. He must see Lord Screech's Peace Treaty as a threat to the Nightside's status quo... but still, he shouldn't have done it. He must have known I'd take it personally.

I did a quick headcount, and came up with thirty heavily armed specimens, heading right for us. Under normal circ.u.mstances, sending thirty armed men to take down one elf, one super-heroine, and me might have seemed somewhat excessive ; but as I've said before, we don't do normal in the Nightside. These might well be hard-faced, hard-hearted, hardened soldier types; but in the end they were only military men, and we ... were so much more. They broke into a trot as they spotted the Fatemobile, hefting their truncheons eagerly.

I just knew we weren't going to get along.

The three of us stepped out of the car and stood together, studying the advancing bully-boys. They all had that look... of men who'd been thrown out of the SAS for excessive brutality ; of men who didn't know the meaning of the word fear, fear, or or self-restraint self-restraint; of men who would get the job done whatever it took. Idiots with muscle, basically. Training's all very fab and groovy, but it only works in the sane, everyday world. In the Nightside, we depend more on violent improvisation and downright nasty weirdness.

Someone in the front rank spotted me, and I saw a ripple pa.s.s through the ranks as my name worked its way back. They all swapped their truncheons to their left hands, and drew their guns with their right. Heavy, long-barrelled pistols, loaded with dum-dums if they had any sense. I smiled, a little. Walker must have told them about me, but they clearly hadn't listened. So, time for my party trick. I raised my hands, called on an old well-rehea.r.s.ed magic, and took all the bullets out of their guns. The bullets fell in streams from my upraised hands, to jump and clatter on the ground at my feet. As tricks go, I couldn't help feeling it was getting just a bit predictable, but I think people have come to expect it and would be disappointed if I didn't use it at some point. Sometimes I'm a victim of my own reputation.

The shock-and-awe troopers could tell the guns in their hands were empty by the sudden change in weight, and they holstered them quickly. Without slowing their advance, they transferred their truncheons back to their right hands. A good move. You can't take bullets out of a stick. I looked behind me, casually, in case there was an obvious exit route, but the street was blocked off by a crowd of fascinated onlookers, taking photos and placing bets. One guy had even taken advantage of the crowd to set up a fast-food stall, selling wriggling things on sticks.

Ms. Fate finished fastening her midnight blue cloak about her shoulders. It suited her. The cape made her look more like an experienced crime-fighter and less like a pervert in a fetish suit. The heavy leather cape swirled about her as she drew a handful of razor-sharp silver shuriken out of her belt. In that moment, she looked every inch the real thing; because she was.

"We could drive off," I said. "Thus avoiding unnecessary blood and suffering. Just putting it forward as a possibility..."

"Don't be silly," said Ms. Fate, making fists inside her gauntlets so that the leather creaked loudly. The knuckles were reinforced with steel caps. "I have my reputation to consider."

"Sorry," I said. "Don't know what came over me. Don't suppose you've got any battle armour built into that costume?"

"Of course not. It slows me down when I'm fighting. You really mustn't worry about me, John. It's sweet, but just a touch patronising. Worry about those poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

Her right hand whipped forward, with a practised snap of the wrist, and a silver shuriken flashed through the air to bury itself in the nearest trooper's left t.i.t. It punched right through his body armour and buried itself deep in the pectoral muscle. Blood spurted on the air as the force of the blow slammed him back onto his a.r.s.e. Well trained, though, he didn't make a sound as his fellow troopers trampled right over him in their eagerness to get to us.

"Some people would take a hint," said Ms. Fate. "But I can see we're going to have to do this the hard way. Up close and personal."

"Best way," said Lord Screech.

I looked at him, and couldn't keep from raising an eye brow. "Are you seriously proposing to involve yourself in a common brawl? I didn't think your kind lowered themselves to simple fisticuffs and putting the boot in."

"We don't, usually," said the elf. "But we never miss an opportunity to put mere humans in their place."

And he and Ms. Fate marched purposefully forward to strike terror into the hearts of the unG.o.dly. I stayed right where I was, considering my options. I've never been much of a one for brute force, mainly because I've never been very good at it. I had no doubt I'd have to get personally involved at some point, but I thought I'd wait and see what Ms. Fate and Lord Screech had to offer first.

The shock-and-awe troopers clearly didn't take a costumed super-heroine seriously, right up to the moment she hit their advancing front line like a grenade. She punched out one man, back-elbowed another in the throat, swung around and took out two more with a sweeping karate kick. Shocked cries of pain and horror filled the night as she waded right into the troopers, breaking heads and noses, beating them up and knocking them down, and making it all look easy. The troopers quickly rallied, striking out viciously with their truncheons, but somehow Ms. Fate was never where they thought she should be, and they did more damage to each other than they did to her.

Ms. Fate had trained long and hard to be a costumed crime-fighter, and it showed.

Lord Screech, on the other hand, was every inch the magnificent amateur; a man who never practised because he didn't need to. He seemed simply to stroll into the mayhem, and men started dropping to the blood-stained ground. He moved languidly, gracefully, through the confused pack of armed men, and every time his hand shot out, there was the sound of breaking bone and cartilage, and blood flew everywhere. He moved so quickly none of the shock-and-awe troopers could even touch him.

I sat on the bonnet of the Fatemobile, cheering my colleagues on but not so loudly as to draw unwelcome attention to myself. Screech and Ms. Fate didn't seem to need my help. Until a new pack of troopers, twice the size of the original, came racing round the corner, and charged forward to join the fight. I sighed. Given that Walker was every inch a product of the old public school system, he seemed to have great difficulty in grasping the concept of playing fair.

Screech and Ms. Fate moved quickly to stand back-to-back, surrounded by broken and bloodied figures crawling painfully about on the street. They could have run back to the safety of the Fatemobile, but that wasn't their style. Ms. Fate was breathing hard, the leather over her fake b.r.e.a.s.t.s rising and falling, but her gloved hands were full of shuriken, and her cowled head was proudly erect. Screech wasn't even breathing hard. He flicked drops of blood from the tips of his elegant fingers and glared arrogantly at the approaching troopers. But there had to be a good sixty armed men heading right for them, and the odds weren't good.

So I got up off the bonnet, walked casually forward to join Screech and Ms. Fate, waited till the charging troopers were almost upon us, then used a variation on my bullet-removing trick to rip all the fillings, crowns and bridgework right out of their mouths. The troopers skidded to a halt, clutching at ruined, b.l.o.o.d.y mouths, making quite distressing and pitiful sounds of pain and horror. Screech and Ms. Fate looked at me inquiringly. I explained what I'd just done, and Ms. Fate got the giggles. Screech nodded approvingly, as though I was a rather backwards pupil who'd finally done something right. I stepped forward, and cleared my throat loudly to get the troopers' attention.

"Yes," I said cheerfully. "That was me. Now, be good little shock-and-awe troopers and trot off back to Walker, or I'll show you another disappearing trick, involving your t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es and a series of buckets."

They looked at each other, put away their various weapons, and trudged off to tell Walker I'd been mean to them. And probably to ask if he knew a good dentist. They looked rather sullen and sulky, as though we hadn't played the game by refusing to be helpless victims.

"Spoil-sport," said Ms. Fate, her breathing almost back to normal. "I was just getting warmed up."

"That was a really nasty trick, Mr. Taylor," said Screech. "Almost worthy of an elf."

"Let's get back to the car," I said. "We need to remove ourselves from the vicinity, at speed, before Walker decides to send someone or something really dangerous after us. Those poor fools were just a shot across the bows, to get our attention."

"And," said Ms. Fate, "now he knows what car you're using. So much for the element of surprise."

We all piled back into the Fatemobile, Ms. Fate detaching her cloak and tossing it onto the back seat, where it enveloped Lord Screech. Ms. Fate slapped at various controls, the automatic seat belts did themselves up, and she gripped the ermine-covered steering wheel with her gloved hands.

"Atomic batteries to power, turbines to speed!" she yelled joyously, and slammed her foot down.

The Fatemobile peeled out so fast it took a minute for its shadow to catch up, and bullied its way into the streaming traffic through sheer bravado and force of character. The acceleration pressed me back into my seat, and the sudden turns clanged my eye-b.a.l.l.s together. Screech finally freed himself from the folds of Ms. Fate's cape and leaned forward.

"Atomic batteries? Is she joking?"

"Who can tell?" I said. "This is the Nightside. We do things differently here."

"You humans and your toys," said Screech. "I think I'll take a little nap. Wake me up when we get to the Gate."

We shot through the Nightside at breath-taking speed, overtaking most things, intimidating others, and shouldering aside anything that didn't get out of the way fast enough. The Fatemobile might look like a contender for Top Gear's Gear's Most Effeminate Car of the Year Award, but it moved like a guided missile, and had enough built-in weapons systems to more than punch its weight. Ms. Fate wasn't above using the front-mounted machine-guns to clear the way ahead if she recognised anyone she disapproved of, and she tossed a concussion grenade through the open window of a taxi-cab when the driver was rude to her. He must have been new. Anyone else would have had more sense. Or at least sense enough to maintain a safe distance. The various bars and clubs all merged into one long blur as we streaked past them, the neon signs a long multi-coloured smear. The Fatemobile's motor roared like a beast unleashed, and there wasn't a thing on the road that could match us. Most Effeminate Car of the Year Award, but it moved like a guided missile, and had enough built-in weapons systems to more than punch its weight. Ms. Fate wasn't above using the front-mounted machine-guns to clear the way ahead if she recognised anyone she disapproved of, and she tossed a concussion grenade through the open window of a taxi-cab when the driver was rude to her. He must have been new. Anyone else would have had more sense. Or at least sense enough to maintain a safe distance. The various bars and clubs all merged into one long blur as we streaked past them, the neon signs a long multi-coloured smear. The Fatemobile's motor roared like a beast unleashed, and there wasn't a thing on the road that could match us.

It wasn't until we were directed off the main road and onto the side routes that our real troubles began.

Walker had set up roadblocks at all the major intersections leading to the Osterman Gate, heavy fortifications topped with barbed wire, leaving only narrow gaps for the traffic to file through. Every barricade was manned with heavily armed and armoured shock-and-awe troopers. Only Walker would have dared interfere with the flow of traffic through the Nightside, and even he couldn't hope to keep it up for long without risking open mayhem and madness; but it did what it was supposed to do. It forced us off the main roads and onto the lesser-known and lesser-travelled routes. Roads that took you through the darker territories, where the really wild things lived.

Ms. Fate was quickly lost and disorientated. You can't rely on a sat-nav in a place where directions can be a matter of choice, and reality rewrites itself when you're not looking. I concentrated on the Osterman Gate, keeping its location fixed in my mind, even as the roads twisted and turned before us. We were in the dog lat.i.tudes now, in the raw and savage parts of the Nightside that most tourists never see. Where you can find all manner of terrible things, if they don't find you first. The traffic was just as heavy, though maybe a little faster and better armed, and Ms. Fate swore constantly under her breath as she fought to keep up with everything else. I guided her through back routes and hidden paths, forced this way and that by blocked-off exits, but always edging closer to our goal. Walker might have his traps and his barricades, and his spies on every street-corner; but I was born in the Nightside, and no-one knows its streets better than I.

We were heading through Chow Down, where we put the seriously extreme ethnic restaurants (cuisine red in tooth and claw), when Ms. Fate glanced in her rear-view mirror and made a clucking noise of disappointment.

"Take a look behind, John; we seem to have acquired unwanted suitors. Really uncouth types."

I turned around in my seat and looked behind me. Screech gave every indication of being fast asleep, his mouth hanging slightly open. I looked past him, through the rear window, and winced. Walker had put h.e.l.l's Neanderthals on our tail. Now, that was just mean. There were twenty of the ma.s.sive, hairy creatures, riding souped-up, stripped-down, chopper motorcycles. Great muscular specimens of another kind of human, brought to the Nightside from the ancient past via some travelling Timeslip, and put to work by anyone who needed brawn untroubled by much brain. h.e.l.l's Neanderthals were always ready to do security, body-guarding, or menace for hire, for anyone with hard cash to offer.

They wore long, flapping coats made from the tanned skins of enemies they'd defeated. And eaten. They wore n.a.z.i helmets, lots of trashy jewellery, and a curious mixture of all the major religious symbols. They also wore lengths of steel chain wrapped around their bulky torsos, to use as flails in close combat. Their leaders had swords sheathed on their backs, and I knew from experience that they would be brutal jagged butcher's blades. h.e.l.l's Neanderthals don't do subtlety.

They moved up fast behind us, their outriders lashing out with steel-tipped boots at anyone who got too close. I could hear the pack-leaders hooting and howling at each other in their prehuman language, and something in those brutal, primitive sounds made all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I must have made some kind of noise myself, because Screech's eyes snapped open. He turned languorously to look out the rear window and pulled a face.

"And I thought humans were ugly ... Nature can be very cruel to some people. Any chance we can outrun these evolutionary disasters?"

"Not in this traffic," said Ms. Fate. "It's so tightly packed I can't build up any speed, while those motor-bikes are weaving through the vehicles behind us. It's times like this I wish I'd invested in that air-to-surface missile system I saw in Motors of Ma.s.s Destruction Motors of Ma.s.s Destruction magazine. Find me an open road, John, and those creepy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds can eat my radioactive dust, but as it is ... Prepare for boarding, chaps. And do try to keep them from chipping the paint-work ..." magazine. Find me an open road, John, and those creepy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds can eat my radioactive dust, but as it is ... Prepare for boarding, chaps. And do try to keep them from chipping the paint-work ..."

"Give me a rundown on the car's defences," I said. "What have you got that's new and nasty?"

"Not a lot, I'm afraid. The machine-guns, of course, but only at the front ... The grenade launchers and the nerve-gas dispensers really need refilling; you know how expensive they are to maintain ... And a few other bits and bobs, but that's basically it. I'm a street fighter, John; I don't really do that whole death from afar death from afar thing. I've always prided myself on being an old-fashioned hands-on sort of girl, dispensing personal beatings to bad guys." thing. I've always prided myself on being an old-fashioned hands-on sort of girl, dispensing personal beatings to bad guys."

"Isn't there anything you can do?" I said.

"Oh sure! I'll put on some Evanescence; that should put us in the right mood."

As the music blasted from the in-car speakers, I remembered why I only ever called on Ms. Fate for transport when there was no-one else available.

A motorcycle's roar contended fiercely with the music as a h.e.l.l's Neanderthal pulled up alongside. He matched his bike's speed to the car's and grinned nastily at me through my side window, showing off brutal yellow fangs. He came in really close, reaching for the length of steel chain wrapped around his barrel chest, and I slammed open the side-door with all my strength behind it. The door rammed into the Neanderthal, and he suddenly disappeared sideways as his bike overturned, leaving him hooting loudly in surprise and pain as the road came up terribly fast to meet him. I looked back as he shot back down the road under his bike, in a shower of sparks and spurting blood, then his cries were cut off as his own people rode right over him. They came howling after us, waving their steel chains in circles above their heads.

One of them pressed in close, right on the Fatemobile's b.u.mper, and Ms. Fate slammed on the brakes. The other bikers sped past us, caught by surprise, but the rider behind couldn't react quickly enough, and his front wheel connected with the rear b.u.mper. The bike kicked and dug in, and threw the Neanderthal violently forward over the handle-bars and onto the car's boot. He clung fiercely to one of the pink tail fins, his bandy legs dangling behind in the slip-stream, then he pulled himself forward and up onto the roof, hooting and howling wildly. A jagged steel blade punched down through the roof, the long blade narrowly missing Screech. The elf grabbed the blade with one bare hand and snapped it off, leaving the Neanderthal nothing but the hilt. He jumped forward onto the bonnet, whirled around, and showed us his blocky teeth in a nasty grin. And while he was busy feeling proud of himself, Ms. Fate hit the brakes hard again, and the rather-surprised-looking Neanderthal was thrown t.i.t over a.r.s.e off the bonnet and onto the road, where we ran over him.