“Because no one else will right now, with the caucus and all.”

“It’s pouring out.”

“What else is new?”

“So, go.”

“Alone?”

“When has that stopped you?” He shrugged. “It’s how we work out on the streets, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“It’s different now.”

“And you’re looking to me for protection?” He flapped his bony arms. “That’s a laugh.”

“Rousseau might let you take a boat, y’know, to do research. We’d get there faster.”

“I get it. And you don’t think I should be here for the den caucus?”

He had a point. “If we left now, maybe we’d be back in time.”

“I don’t see what’s so . . . I mean, jeez, we just met the guy.” His chin lifted and his gaze slid away. “Oh, wait. Must be you took a liking to him, huh? That was quick.”

Not quite an eye roll, but close.

“He’s . . . a friend.”

“Well, so am I, but would you go chasing uptown after me in the middle of a monsoon?”

I glared at him. “Who threw themselves into the friggin’ hornet’s nest out on the walkway to save your butt?”

“Okay, okay. What say we wait to see if he shows up for the caucus? If not, then we’ll see about a boat, okay?”

Not okay. But a tantrum was beyond me. I stood hip-slung, pondering my next move.

Rubio turned to drift back to his map, then stopped, listening. “Hear that?”

“No.” So like him to end an argument with a distraction.

But I did hear it. Less a sound than a bass vibration, a deep thrumming under the din of rain on the roof and the screechy furniture movers in the Mess.

At the table, Jake said, “What is that?”

As if by magic, the rain drum slackened, leaving behind the heavy throb of an engine. A big one, right outside our door. Around the hall, the scattered groups of breakfasters sat up from their snoozing and chat.

“Some den showing up early for the caucus?” Rubio said into the silence.

“Way too early. Besides, what den has engines that big?” Jake tossed his towel aside and reached for his T-shirt.

Amazing how quickly casual wariness can balloon into full-tilt alarm. Bowls and mugs clattered aside as the room rose to its feet. Rubio scooped up his map, folding it reverently into a portable package.

Then, a rumble of footsteps in the mudroom, and in strode a clutch of the older lads, our enforcers, escorting a smaller posse of unknowns. A guy in a pale gray suit and open-collar black shirt, giving out a big, horsey smile. Hardly a raindrop darkened his shoulders. Behind him, four drenched muscle boys, his own security. One of them was closing up a giant red umbrella. Plenty jostling in the crowd, but so far, our guys were keeping it formal.