Rousseau cocked his head. “I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.”

“T’ought dis sort washed out wit’ da first big surge,” muttered Spunk.

Behind Bright, the least patient of his posse shook off a Joe enforcer’s over-eager grip and a tussle ensued. The crowd roused like a pack of hounds until the dude was face-down on the tiles in his own puddle of rainwater, a pair of Joe boots pressed into his back.

“Boys, boys. Mind your manners.” Bright’s jumpy eyes swung a complicit glance toward Rousseau. “We’re all friends here.”

Rousseau circled a forefinger, and the boots lifted away.

The downed guy leaped to his feet, glowering and brushing off his rainbow wear like our floor might give him a disease.

“Feckless youth.” Bright grinned and slid a palm beneath Rousseau’s elbow to walk him away from Jake and Spunk. “I’m here on a matter of business. Shall we talk in your office?”

Rousseau wasn’t going anywhere. His still mass swung Bright around and back toward his men like a planet in orbit. “We share our business here at Unca Joe. Speak your piece.”

Not exactly true, but it put the man off his stride.

“Excellent. Democracy in action. I’d heard otherwise, but every den has its style.”

Jake decided to join in. “What den do you call home, Mr. Wright?”

“Bright. It’s Bright. But call me Mike.” He pulled out the cleanest snot-rag I’d ever seen to blot his shiny brow. He refolded it carefully, focusing on it instead of Jake. “No den, actually. I’m independent, in business for myself. I like to think I serve all the dens. Or hope to.”

Spunk leaned in. “Wha’ kinda service mi’ dat be, nah?”

Bright’s tongue flicked across his lips as he debated his target. He chose to stick with Rousseau. “It’s come to our attention that . . .”

“Our?” said Spunk. “Thought ya wuz independent.”

“My associates and I—other independents—have heard there’s been an uptick of random violence down here among the dens.”

Spunk folded his arms. “Who’d ya heah dat from?”

A listening quiet in the hall. Even the rain’s roof drum had ceased.

Bright recharged his smile. “Can’t say as I recall.”

Rousseau returned only mild curiosity. “Presuming this rumor to be true, Mr. Bright, what’s your interest in it?”

“My interest is your interest, Mr. Rousseau, and your den’s, seeing as you might be in need of my services.”

“You haven’t said what that is yet,” Jake noted.

“Your safety, Mr. Reilly. Unca Joe’s safety.”