He brought his boat to idle about twenty feet off our starboard, grinning like a shark. “Hello there, den rat.”

I hoped he’d have forgotten me. “Hey, Dark Boy.”

“What’s that?”

“Never mind.”

“Friend of yours?” growled Breakers, ready to defend me but suspicious that I might know anyone so obviously un-den as these two.

“Not exactly.”

Dark Boy aimed his sculpted chin at Breakers’ weapon, then caught the second glint of metal down the block. “See you got some rat teeth since last we met.”

Given the company I was keeping, I wasn’t scared. But his slickness, his lizard ease got me both riled and anxious, stirring up dust in part of my brain that had nothing to do with rational. “Kinda off your turf, aren’t ya? Taking me up on my invite?”

“Nah.” He brushed glossy hair back and adjusted his mirrored glasses. “Just slumming, y’know? See if there’s anything left downtown after the last big blow.”

I wished I could see his eyes. “Least you’re sober this time.”

“Yeah.” He cackled, like he relished the memory of being vile and half-crocked.

“The light,” Breakers said. “We should be moving along.”

“Us, too,” echoed the redhead. She’d slunk down in her leatherette bucket seat as far as she could without lying flat. “Ju-li-an, can we just . . . ?”

“When I’m done visiting.” He leaned back, one arm draped languidly over the wheel like he was planning to stay a while. “So, what you got on the raft? You poaching some other den’s livestock?”

I looked. Blood had seeped through the tarp onto the pallet slats. “It’s . . . a friend. We’re taking her home.”

“Yeah?” He took a longer look, losing some of his ease. “Bummer. What happened?”

“None of your biz, but . . . sniper’s bullet.”

“Whose?”

“What do you care?”

“Good to know where to watch out for it. Like, bam!” He revved his big engine, but stayed in idle. “That’d really suck. Hear there’s a den war brewing.”

Breakers tuned in again. “Where’d you hear that?”

Dark Boy studied her, but only briefly. “Around.”

“Up or down?”

“Guess I don’t remember.” He wriggled his shoulders, not quite a shrug, then turned his mirror lenses back to me. “Well, it’s been real, den rat.”

No way he was going to leap out of his posh boat and come after me, so maybe I could risk a question or two, like who was the blond inside the launch that night? I’d make it sound casual. But would he tell me?

“If you’re headed downtown,” I said instead, “steer clear of the Chinatown high-rises. There’s a bad bunch in there.”

“Ooo-ooh, BlackAdder!” He hooted, but something changed behind those lenses. Couldn’t read it, could only sense a difference: a hint of bitterness? A twinge of fear? “You think I don’t know about them?”

“I’m only saying . . .”