In the distance I heard the first rumble of thunder as the afternoon storm moved in. Shit, said Chutsky. Is it going to rain?

Every day at this time, I said.

That’s no good, he said. We gotta do something before it rains. You’re up, Dexter.

Me? I said, startled out of my meditations on maverick medical malpractice. I had adjusted to going along for the ride, but to actually have to do something was a little more than I had bargained for. I mean, here we had two hardened warriors sitting idly by, while we sent Delicate Dimpled Dexter into danger? Where’s the sense in that?

You, Chutsky said. I need to hang back and see what happens. If it’s him, I can take him out better. And Debbie— He smiled at her, even though she seemed to be scowling at him. Debbie is too much of a cop. She walks like a cop, she stares like a cop, and she might try to write him a ticket. He’d make her from a mile away. So it’s you, Dex.

It’s me doing what? I asked, and I admit that I was still feeling some righteous indignation.

Just walk by the house one time, around the cul-de-sac and back. Keep your eyes and ears open, but don’t be too obvious.

I don’t know how to be obvious, I said.

Great. Then this should be a piece of cake.

It was clear that neither logic nor completely justified irritation was going to do any good, so I opened the door and got out, but I couldn’t resist a parting shot. I leaned in Deborah’s window and said, I hope I live to regret this. And very obligingly, the thunder rumbled again nearby.

I strolled down the sidewalk toward the house. There were leaves underfoot, a couple of crushed juice cartons from some kid’s lunch box. A cat rushed out onto a lawn as I passed and sat down very suddenly to lick its paws and stare at me from a safe distance.

At the house with all the cars in front the music changed and someone yelled, Whoo! It was nice to know that somebody was having a good time while I strolled into mortal danger.