The taxi driver fixed me in his rearview mirror with his calm, steady gaze. "So, man, are you an actor, or a writer?"

"Neither," I said firmly.

There was a long pause, as he tried to get his head around such a novel concept. "Hell, man, everyone here is either an actor, or a writer. Or a producer. Everything else is just what you do to pay the bills, till the big break comes around. You're a Brit, right? Love the accent. You guys make the best villains… So, are you a producer? Because I got this killer screenplay, guaranteed to do major business. All about this guy who can turn invisible, but only when he's naked… You don't like that one? Okay, how about this for high concept-James Bond meets Alien!"

"Been there, done that," I said. "Just drive."

And there must have been something in my voice, because he sniffed loudly, shut up, and fixed his gaze on the road ahead. He turned his music up loud, which seemed to consist mainly of bass beats, heavy grunts and extensive use of the word "ho." I didn't think it had anything to do with the song from Snow White. Unless one of the dwarves was called Shouty.

We hadn't been driving long before we hit hard traffic. Every lane was full, in every direction, and everyone had ground to a halt. There was a lot of bad-tempered horn abuse, and even more harsh language. My driver just sat back in his seat and rolled up another fat one, quite content to sit there as long as it took, and watch his fare rise. I wasn't. I had work to be about, and a deadline to meet. So I got out of the taxi, paid off the driver, (including a tip nicely calculated to spoil his whole day without inciting actual violence), and walked up the highway, strolling in and out of the parked cars. And no one saw me, because I had armoured up and invoked stealth mode.

The marvellous armour of the Droods flowed out of the golden torc around my throat, and covered me in a moment from head to toe, like a second skin.