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If that didn’t work, Dew pitched it to Murray and washed his hands of the whole situation. Murray Longworth made problems go away. Sucked b.a.l.l.s for the guy with the burr under his saddle, but every war has collateral damage.

This time, however, Dew wasn’t having any problems. Reports of domestic terrorists, army troops, gunfire and a ground-shaking bomb in Marinesco gobbled up attention. Not that people weren’t interested in the sad story of Thad McMillian Sr. going nuts and killing his wife, his daughter and his little boy. A tragedy, that’s what it was. A shame he was running a meth lab in that house, a real shame, but it explained the sightings of men in hazmat suits carrying guns, and it explained the two big semi trucks parked in the McMillians’ driveway. It also explained the absence of Tad Jr. and the baby. Witness-protection plan. Just for a short time as the feds in town worked through the meth-lab case. The boys were safe, although no one could say when or if they’d be back in town. Seems their grandmother (on the wife’s side) lived in Was.h.i.+ngton State, and the boys were eventually going to go live with her. The local media bought the story hook, line and sinker. METHED-OUT FATHER MURDERS FAMILY would be in area headlines for another few days, sure. Glidden was so small it didn’t even have its own newspaper. Soon it would all die down. This was America. People got killed. Such is life. What time is the game on?

So Dew Phillips was in as good a mood as could be expected for a man trying to deal with a bizarre parasitical invasion. He had helped shut down the fourth gate. He had dry clothes. He was warm again. The media and local police were playing ball. He had a full belly, and room service kept bringing pots of coffee and boxes of doughnuts from Bob’s Breakfast Shack.

Everything was going great guns, right up to the moment when the door opened and Perry Dawsey stepped inside.

Four heads turned to stare at him. Milner’s hand went to the grip of his pistol and stayed there. Baumgartner’s hands locked down on the back of a wooden chair. Amos backed up against a wall, a chocolate doughnut with nuts still hanging in his mouth.

“Dew, I need to talk to you,” Perry said. “Right now.”

“So talk.”

“Get these f.a.ggots out of here,” Perry said.

“I’d be happy to vacate the premises,” Amos said. “If you’d be so kind as to remove your substantial bulk from the doorway, I’ll be gone forthwith.”

Perry stepped aside. Amos shot out of the room like a world-cla.s.s sprinter coming off the blocks.

“Kid,” Dew said. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it. These guys are part of the team.”

“They’re f.u.c.king peons,” Perry said. “Don’t make me beat their a.s.ses again, old man.”

Dew Phillips nodded. Yes, that was just about enough of this s.h.i.+t. It most certainly was.

“Milner, Baumgartner,” Dew said. “Take a walk.”

Baumgartner seemed uncertain and looked at Dew. Milner kept staring at Perry and kept his hand on the gun. He wasn’t taking his eyes off the big man for even a second.

“Sir,” Baumgartner said, “I think we should stay here.” His metal nose brace glinted in the hotel room’s light. Between the brace and the mustache, he couldn’t possibly look any dumber.

“I said take a walk,” Dew said.

“Sir,” Baum said. “Uh . . . you being alone with Dawsey, maybe it’s not—”

“Take a motherf.u.c.king walk, boys,” Dew said. “Get out. I want to have a private discussion with Citizen Dawsey.”

Baumgartner let go of the chair. He walked out, patting Milner on the back as he did. Milner managed to follow Baum out the door without taking his eyes off Dawsey and without taking his hand off the gun.

Perry shut the door. “Listen, Dew, something’s up.”

“We’ll get to that in a second,” Dew said. “First I’ve got a pesky little agenda item that we need to address.”