After a ceremonious round of shots were poured and distributed, Matthew Mollenkamp rose to his feet. Everyone followed suit, including Lurine and me.

“To Thad,” he said.

“To Thad,” we chorused.

Everyone drank. With a couple of beers already in me, I would have faked it if I could, but Matthew was watching. He was a good-looking guy, tall and rangy, but there was a guarded look behind his hazel eyes that made me uncomfortable.

“Again,” he said.

Twice more, Denny the Triton circulated to refill our paper cups with twelve-year-old single-malt scotch with which we toasted Thad Vanderhei before Matthew Mollenkamp sank back into his armchair.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

I blinked, wishing I weren’t starting to get more than a little drunk. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for undercover work.

“Poor boy.” Lurine perched on the overstuffed arm of Matthew’s chair, stroking his hair with idle fingers. “I know it’s awful.”

He glanced up at her. “You don’t know shit.”

She gave him a faint smile. “Try me. I might surprise you.”

His mouth curled, but it wasn’t a smile. “Anyone ever tell you that you look like Lurine Hollister? Only not as hot.”

“Oh, is that that pickup-artist thing where you pretend to compliment a girl, then insult her to undermine her confidence?” Leaning down, Lurine kissed his cheek. “Honey, it’s okay. You don’t have to pretend tonight. I know you’re in a bad way.” She plucked the paper cup from his hand. “But if you’re going to keep drinking, let’s get you a proper glass so you can drink like a big boy.”

Matthew tilted his head back, narrowing his eyes. “So you think you can handle me, huh?”

She regarded him. “Yeah, I do.”

One of the other Tritons, a doughy, thickset guy sitting on the couch beside me, laughed. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.” He hoisted his cup. “All hail Lord Matt, the original Master of the Universe.”

Someone said, “Hear, hear,” and drank; someone else attempted to hush them. Most of them looked uncertain.

“That’s what Thad said,” I offered. “The last time he texted me. He said he was gonna be a Master of the Universe. I just thought it was, you know, a figure of speech. Is that, like, a thing with you guys?”

There was a little silence, broken by the doughy Triton next to me bursting into low, racking sobs.

Unsure what else to do, I rubbed his broad back.

“Jesus!” Matthew Mollenkamp pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyelids. “Ron, Ronny, man, get it together. Get ahold of yourself. I know, okay, I know. But at least Thad went out trying; he went out a man.”

“It’s just—”

“I know.” He lowered his hands, glaring. “I need a drink. I need a motherfucking drink.”