Spunk straightened. “Yeah, an’ Tom’s always havin’ ta break up stand-offs in da Mess! Moah dan one firefight right in da den!” He eyed Rubio sideways. “Dat whachu want?”

“The Souk makes the Tommys check their weapons at the gate,” Jake added. “They’re a rough lot over there.”

“Rousseau’s got da right ideah.”

Rubio’s chin jutted. “Easy for you to say, with that big old blade on your belt.”

Spunk’s hunting knife was an object of envy, with its ten-inch blade and wicked edge.

He shrugged. “Priv’lege of rank.”

“And a deterrent,” Jake noted. “Imagine a moment ago if all those revved-up boyos could pull a weapon.”

Rube’s mouth thinned. “BlackAdder wouldn’t have done Vanya if he had a gun.”

I kicked Rubio under the table to warn him off where he was going.

“You don’ know dat.” Spunk started stacking his dishes.

“And we don’t know it was BlackAdder,” said Jake.

Vanya was Rubio’s best buddy before me, till he staggered home one night and bled to death on the floor of Main before the medics could save him. BlackAdder was the rogue den of our nightmares. They got blamed for anything truly horrible that went down.

“So, you’d know what to do with a gun if you had one?” Jake scoffed.

“Yeah, I would. I had one before. Didn’t you?”

“What? Hell, no. Why would I?”

Rubio let the tiniest curl of satisfaction ease his glower. “I thought everyone did.”

Spunk nodded thoughtfully. “Mos’ did, once t’ings started goin’ sideways.”

“Fuck you both,” Jake growled. “I’m an actor, not a vigilante!”

I played a compromise card. “I heard Revelations lets you check out a weapon when you leave the den.”

“See? Someone’s got some sense,” Rubio seconded.

I nodded, ready to move on.

Not Rubio. He had a rat by the tail. “At least Maxine picked a building taller than the next wave. Ladysmith’s won’t be needing to move anytime soon.”

Jake shoved his chair back with a screech. “Give it a damn rest, will you? You’ll friggin’ fight about anything!”

Nearby tables glanced our way, sure that trouble was starting up again.

And there was Sam, his brow wrinkled in confusion, easing in between Jake and Rubio, his tray held up like a shield. “So, tell me again. Are they all gone? Everyone but us?”

I smiled him relief and gratitude. He couldn’t tell you any of our names, but he had a true instinct for diplomacy.

Jake exhaled noisily, white-knuckled on the table edge. “No, Sam, not all. Plenty still living uptown, in the high and dry. And the rest’ll be back, soon as the water goes down.” He rose, replaced his chair deliberately, picked up his dishes, and stalked off toward the return hatch.

“Nah look whachu did,” scolded Spunk.

“Not my fault if he’s deep in avoidance,” Rubio returned.