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“Okay, so you’ve got a point. But you know what? Your calm, doctory logic kind of gets on my nerves. Do you always have to be right?”

“Doctory? I rather like that word. I don’t have to always be right, Dew, that’s just how it works out.”

He took a big drink of coffee. It scalded his mouth a little, but he didn’t care—he felt the heat going into his chest.

“Well, Doc, I’m afraid you’re not always right. I tried it your way and got water thrown in my face.”

“So try again.”

“Why the h.e.l.l should I?”

“You mean besides the fact that we need a live host to figure out what the heck is going on?”

“Yeah,” Dew said. “Besides that.”

“How about having compa.s.sion, Dew? How about being understanding? Perry’s been through h.e.l.l. He lost his best friend.”

“Yeah? So what? So did I.”

“And did you beat your best friend to death? Did you nail his hands up with steak knives and write discipline on the wall in his blood?”

In his entire life, he’d never been around anyone who made him feel as stupid as Margaret Montoya did. At least not without punching them in the mouth.

Dew grabbed his shoes and started putting them on. “No,” he said. “I didn’t do any of that.”

“Right. So maybe, just maybe, Perry is trying to deal with some things that you can’t understand.”

“That s.h.i.+t only floats for so long,” Dew said. “I’m starting to think he’s nothing more than a glorified bully, and the only way to get through to a bully is to give him a whuppin’.”

Margaret smiled. It wasn’t the kind of smile that said, I bet you’d be a fun roll in the hay, because Dew knew what those smiles looked like on a woman. At least he used to know what those looked like. He didn’t get them anymore. This was another kind of smile, the kind a young woman gives to an old man when the old man says something silly.

“Dew, I know you’re very good at what you do, but just keep some perspective, okay?”

He grabbed his dry coat off the hanger and put it on. “Perspective? What the f.u.c.k is that supposed to mean?”

Margaret shrugged. Her smile grew a little wider, a little more condescending. “Well, look at you and . . . look at him. You’re not going to beat any sense into him, and shooting him won’t work. You already tried that.”

Dew quickly put the weapons in their various holsters and hiding spots. “Doc, you stick to the sciencey and doctory stuff and leave the rest to me, okay?”

She smiled that smile again, then shrugged. “Whatever you say. So what do we do next?”

“We have to finish up some things here. Then I think we’re heading closer to Chicago.”

So far there was no pattern to the location of the four gates. Chicago seemed as central as the next spot, within quick striking distance of Wisconsin, Michigan, Indiana and Ohio.

“How about you make sure the MargoMobile is battened down, Doc,” Dew said. “I want us out of here before the local media stops writing about a white supremacist group getting bombed in Marinesco and decides there might actually be another story afoot.”

He opened the door for her and gestured outside. Margaret walked out, and Dew followed.

DEEEEE-TROIT BASKET-BALLLL!