The youths stopped, eyeing Smith with truculent suspicion. When they realised he was alone, their confidence increased, and they spread out. “Minding our own business,” the tallest said. Smith guessed he was fourteen, a wiry youngster with teeth like tombstones in an abandoned cemetery.
“You’re a bunch of thieves,” Smith said pleasantly and smiled as the spokesman pushed back his hat and treated him to foul-mouthed a***e.
“Is that any way to address a gentleman?” Smith asked, swinging his cane.
“What do you want?” The youths spread out further, nerving themselves to attack him.
“I want to talk to you,” Smith said. The boy on the right crouched while the diminutive girl on the left slipped a knife into her hand. Smith smiled at the spokesman. “What’s your name, my young friend?”
“None
