“Nah, still millin’ and shoutin’, like they won the war.” Peeto’s let’s-be-pals grin said he’d had a slow night on the street, and was looking to share someone’s grub, maybe in trade for last-second gossip. “Grace got herself called up to the office, and Rivera came in all cut up.”

“Cut up? Rivera?”

“Ever the bearer of bad news,” Jake muttered.

“What happened?” I slid my food behind my back before Peeto could ask for some.

“Back-talked a teller.” Peeto rubbed his palms cheerfully. “Such a mouth on her!”

No wonder Grace was so jacked up when I’d seen her.

Jake smirked despite himself. “Gracie can hold her own all right.”

“I meant what about Rivera?”

“Up to the medics with a bad slice down one . . .”

“Hold the gore. I’m eating.”

“You asked . . .”

“I mean, is she okay?”

“She’ll do. Might leave a scar. Shame, on such a pretty little . . .”

“Will you get those friggin’ clodhoppers out of here?” Jake insisted.

“Jeez! You guys want the latest or don’t ya?”

“Not at your price.”

Exit time. I rewrapped my half-eaten meal and slipped it into my waistband, making to head up to my bunk. “Listen, Peeto, an okay pair of hikers came in tonight, while I was tallying up. Might fit you. Oughta go check ’em out, before someone else scoops ’em.”

“Got nothing to trade.” Peeto spread empty, filth-darkened palms.

Jake looked away, disgusted. “Just claim a need.”

“Got a bigger need for dinner. One need a night, that’s the rule.”

Jake fished in a pocket, flipped him a single chit. “Go down to the Mess, for crissakes. But wash up first!”

“Hope there’s something good left . . .”

I hated when Peeto whined, which was most of the time. And no way was I mentioning Rubio, happily chowing down on his own pocketful of chits. Peeto’d be down there in seconds asking for a handout. When he started in again on Grace and her mouth, Jake turned on his heel and left.

“You could thank the man, at least!” I said.

He saluted Jake’s receding back. “Sure, okay. Thanks.”

“Check out those boots.” I yawned like fit to drop and climbed up to my bunk. When I slid the curtains aside, it took me a moment to register.

Wait. Empty. Empty?

I shook the folds of the drape, then the netting. Nothing fell out. Tossed back my thin blanket. Rolled back the edges of my sleeping pad. Nothing. I searched the corners, up and down, but in a four-by-eight space, how many places can you lose a biggish object? My pry-bar and my damp undershirt hung proper on their hooks, but my grab bag and all its contents were . . . gone.

I clung to the edge of my bunk. Any second, the top of my head might blow off.

Think. Think. Think!