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Perry stood and walked to the bathroom. He put the plastic ice bucket in the sink, then turned on the cold water.

“Hold on,” Perry said. “Let me get dressed.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dew said. “And if you smell like the rest of your room, you might want to take a shower. A quick one, though. I don’t have all day.”

Perry turned on the shower’s hot water and let it run. He grabbed the now-full ice bucket out of the sink and walked to the front door.

“Hey, Dew?”

“Yeah?”

“Hey, is it cold outside?”

“It’s the dead of winter in northern Wisconsin,” Dew said. “It’s friggin’ freezing.”

In one smooth motion, Perry opened the door and sloshed the ice-bucket water into Dew’s chest. He had a brief glimpse of Dew flinching before the water soaked him, then the old man’s eyes going wide with cold and surprise. Perry shut the door and locked it.

“I’ll pa.s.s on breakfast,” Perry said. “Rain check?”

Bang-bang-bang.

“Open the f.u.c.king door, you f.u.c.k.”

Perry started to lie down again, then remembered that his bed was soaked with beer. He pulled the blankets off and tossed them on the floor.

“You better go change,” Perry said. “Like you said, it’s friggin’ freezing.”

Bang-bang-bang.

“Kid, I am going to beat your a.s.s.”

Perry laughed, but that hurt even more than talking. He pulled off the sheets and tossed them on top of the blankets, leaving a naked mattress. It had a few beer-wet spots, but it would do. He’d pa.s.sed out in his clothes—they were beer-soaked as well, so he took them off and lay down. The running shower helped drown out Dew’s shouts a little. Perry just closed his eyes and waited. If Dew didn’t go away soon, his clothes would freeze on him, and he’d catch pneumonia and die.

Either way, Perry won.

A wave of nausea hit him. He slid his head over the side of the bed and threw up on the floor. As if his head didn’t hurt enough already—was a hangover vomit not one of the worst pains in the world? And Perry Dawsey knew pain. He dragged his face back, using the corner of the mattress to wipe the puke away from his mouth.

The banging stopped, and he quickly fell asleep.

ROOM SERVICE

A knock at Dew’s door.

He was still s.h.i.+vering as he b.u.t.toned up a dry s.h.i.+rt. He should have hopped into the shower to warm up, but there just wasn’t time—too much work to do.

“Who is it?”

“Margaret. I brought your food.”

Dew hadn’t eaten yet. He’d been so p.i.s.sed he hadn’t really noticed how hungry he was. He stuffed his s.h.i.+rt into his pants, b.u.t.toned and zipped, then opened the door.

Margaret stood there in the morning light. She looked good, as always, dark eyes staring back with that combination of kindness and an ever-present haunted look, the result of seeing too many horrors in too short a time. But what really made her attractive was the Styrofoam food container she held in her left hand and the steaming Styrofoam cup she held in her right.