 Then I saw the man on the bridge, staggering, weaving like a drunk. I headed toward him on the double. But before I could reach him, he stumbled and fell on his face. Here. Let's see. Pocket. There. Back there. Pocket, this is Dollar. Johnny Dollar. There. Over there. He kept pointing across the canal. And then I saw the figure slinging away. I took after him. I scrambled across the bridge. And then along the canal.