The Rumor Under the Overpass

"They're calling you the Overpass Ghost now. Some people think you're a displaced security guy from the harbor district." "That doesn't sound like a compliment," Ethan said. "You don't even have a name to them right now. A nickname is progress." Ethan stood beneath an old elevated highway, staring up as trains roared across the dark above him. Under the bridge were damp tires, spray-painted concrete barriers, and a row of abandoned maintenance crates. The South Side sat not far away. Nearby, a half-dead light rail spur ran only two blocks from the main subway web. He was here for a reason. Not to hide. To find a man who sold information.