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Sofia went rigid. Her unblinking eyes stared at him.

She was burning up. A fever. Not as bad as Jeff’s had been in the boiler room, but still, a bad one.

Cooper let go of her head. He helped her to her feet. She winced as she stood. He pointed to the man in the cook’s uniform.

She leaned in close, spoke in a hissing whisper. “Is he asleep?”

“I think so.”

“Shoot him.”

“What? No, we need to get out of here. If we shoot him, it’ll make noise, maybe bring others.”

The sleeping man coughed again, this time much harder, the lung-ripping sound pulling his body into a fetal position.

Cooper thought about throwing Sofia over his shoulder, making a run for the door. He thought about it a moment too long: the cook sat up.

Cooper drew the pistol and pointed it at the man’s chest.

Just shoot him, just shoot him now — but what if he’s not one of them?

The man had reddish-brown spots all over his white uniform. Cooper knew those stains weren’t from preparing some dish in the kitchen.

The man looked at the gun. Then at Cooper. Then at Sofia.

“Are you guys friends?”

That word again. Friends. When the bald man had thought Cooper was his friend, everything had been fine. Maybe Cooper could bulls.h.i.+t his way through this — maybe he wouldn’t have to murder this man.

“We’re friends,” Cooper said. “We’re all friends here.”

The man wiped his white sleeve across his nose; the fabric came away streaked with red. Sweat gleamed on the cook’s face and forehead. He sniffed deeply, the sound choked by snot clogging his sinuses.

“I’m all stuffed up,” he said. “Can’t smell a thing. If you’re a friend, why you pointing that gun at me?”

The man had obviously come in here looking for a place to sleep. He hadn’t bothered to look behind the tables — Cooper and Sofia had been lucky.

“My name is Chavo,” the cook said. “What’s yours?”

Chavo. Cooper hadn’t wanted to know the man’s name, hadn’t wanted to think about him as a person.

“Don’t worry about our names,” Cooper said. “How long have you been in here?”

Chavo shrugged. “Since sometime last night. We were taking care of business.” He smiled when he said it. Taking care of business meant killing people.

He stuck out his tongue, showing the blue triangles that dotted the pink surface. The man’s smile widened as his tongue slid back into his mouth.

“See? I can prove I’m a friend.”

Cooper felt Sofia squeeze his arm.

“Shoot this f.u.c.ker,” she said.

Chavo started coughing again, his fist at his mouth, his body nearly convulsing, yet his eyes never left Sofia.