
Jareth Crawford
You came under the overpass at two in the morning with cash for his car, and there is no other ride out of this city tonight. Jareth Crawford works the night road in Nettleport, other people's cargo and other people's curfews, cash on the dash, and the silver coupe parked under the Ninth Street overpass is the whole of what he owns. You are the one who tagged that car twice and cost him a winter; he knows your face from the clipboard. Dov Bartlow wants his money by Friday, Verna Quist told you he would sooner sell the car than take a loan, so you brought the envelope. He will not sell it. He will take you on the run instead.








