Page 30 (2/2)

“Double cream, double sugar,” she said. “That’s how you like it, right?”

“You’re an angel, lady,” Dew said. He took the container. “You want to come in?”

Margaret nodded and walked into the room. She looked around, eyes lingering on the suitcase placed neatly in the closet, at the shoes lined up next to the suitcase, and the wet s.h.i.+rt, sport coat and pants hanging on the clothes rack, each on its own hanger.

“What happened to you?” she said.

“I took your advice, that’s what happened.” Dew sat down and opened the container. Plastic utensils were in there, rolled up in a paper napkin. He pulled out the fork and shoveled eggs into his mouth.

She sat on the bed next to the nightstand. She looked at Dew’s array of weapons laid out there—the .45, the .38, the Ka-Bar knife, the switchblade, the collapsible baton—then casually scooted farther down the bed, away from them.

“So you were nice to Perry,” she said. “And then what, you went for a swim?”

“He opened the door and doused me,” Dew said as he chewed.

“You’re kidding.”

Dew shook his head. “Ice bucket, I think.”

“Looks like Amos won his twenty bucks back.”

“Those guys bet a lot?”

Margaret nodded. “They’ll bet on anything. That same twenty-dollar bill has traded hands at least a dozen times. Must be some guy bonding strategy.”

“It’s called having fun,” Dew said. “Guys don’t have bonding strategies, they just do stuff.”

“Like douse someone with water?”

“That’s not doing stuff,” Dew said. “That’s being a f.u.c.king a.s.shole. Pardon my French. His room smelled like a frat house. I think he’s hungover. Bad.”

Dew stabbed the fork until it filled with the last of the eggs. “Kid is a f.u.c.king alkie,” he said just before he stuffed the eggs into his mouth.

“He hasn’t had enough time to become an alkie, Dew. It’s only been six weeks since he cut those things out of himself, you know.”

Dew swallowed half the eggs, then picked up a sausage and crammed the whole thing into his mouth.

“Wow, eat much?” Margaret said. “You’d be a cla.s.sy dinner date.”

“I do sorta reek of cla.s.s,” Dew said as he chewed. “It’s all in the breeding. We ran a full background check on Dawsey, you know. Kid used cash for everything except the bar, but trust me, his credit-card bills showed he spent plenty at those bars.”

Margaret rolled her eyes, an expression Dew found simultaneously dismissive and alluring.

“He’s in his twenties, for G.o.d’s sake,” she said. “Did you spend any time in bars when you were in your twenties?”

“Of course not,” Dew said. “I was busy building churches and helping the poor.”

“Oh, now I can see your halo,” Margaret said. “I missed it earlier. Bad lighting in here.”

<script>