“Yeah, well, he would. From the Souk, y’know?” I fiddled with the hood of my poncho. Rain was dripping down my front. “Weird, though, to take off in the middle of the night.”

“Depends on where you’re going.”

“You mean, something . . .” What, wrong? Illegal? Criminal? Meaningless words in a lawless town. “Against the den? He wouldn’t do that!”

“Not what I had in mind.”

“Oh.” Breaker’s ironic grin implied a romantic tryst, but my brain shot off in another direction. “You mean, something happened uptown?”

“Something.” She was still smiling.

But having said it aloud, I was sure it was true. Daniel, the bearer of news. From a friend with a landline. Hints about risk. And there was that creepy guy in the raincoat, my first night at the Souk. Someone should go check. But today was the next big caucus. The den would have other priorities.

I pulled my hood tight. “I’m for the Mess. You need anything?”

“Not a thing, thanks for asking. ’Cept maybe a drier job.”

“That’s what you get for being so good with that gun of yours.”

“Rifle.”

“Right. Later, then.” I shot another look at Daniel’s boat, then retreated. In the close heat of the mudroom, I dripped puddles onto the floor and wrestled with anxiety. Why so worried? Daniel could take care of himself. He had his own life. It was, like I said, none of my business.

But I couldn’t put it to rest.

I snatched at my poncho to haul it off. My head and hands tangled in its oversized wetness, made me grapple more frantically. When I’d thrown it off and onto a hook, I snarled at it, breathing hard. But I couldn’t make it my true frustration. It was just a poncho.

Across the floor of Main, Smiths and Joes clustered over breakfast bowls and mugs, driven from the Mess by the ear-piercing screech and bang of furniture being dragged around as the lads set up for the caucus. Rousseau and Maxine had agreed to open this meeting up to any den member wishing to attend. A big crowd was expected.