Well, that’s one less thing for me to worry about. “Thanks.”

“I also think we should talk about what’s going to happen today.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we need some kind of plan.”

Perry stops shoveling food into his face. “A plan?”

“Yeah, you can’t exactly walk in there and ask for names.”

“Why not?”

Lars stares at him. “Wait. You were planning to just walk in there and ask him?”

“Well, yeah. No point in overcomplicating things.”

“Except if you fuck this up, you might end up with a bullet in your head, and then we’re back to square one.”

Perry slowly sets down his spoon. “And you’ll miss me too. Right?”

“Yes, that whole one day since you’ve been in my life has made you irreplaceable.”

And while I appreciate Lars’s sarcasm, I sort of think I would miss Perry. He’s ridiculous, but he’s the kind of guy you want around. “I’d miss you,” I assure him, and I’m unprepared for the way he lights up.

“Good thing you don’t have anything to worry about. Luther’s a good guy⁠—”

“Because he has a labradoodle,” Lars adds, and I have no idea where he’s getting that reasoning from.

“Exactly.” Perry shoves another spoonful of overnight oats into his mouth, then talks around it. “The less we stress about it, the easier it will be. I’ll head in there, have a drink or two with the gang, explain to Luther that his little side hustle has potentially put my life at risk and I need to know by who, and then I’ll be right back.”

“The … gang?”

“Yeah, my baddie bunch. They’re total badasses—Arlie’s the one who trained me, actually—and I’ve known them for years. We’re tight.”

“Thank fuck for Arlie being a terrible trainer,” I mutter.

Lars is shaking his head at Perry. “Isn’t the first rule of fight club that you don’t talk about fight club?”

Perry stares at him for a second. “Who’s in fight club?”

“I mean that I’m pretty confident you’re not supposed to give us the names of your accomplices.”

“Oohhh … no, it’s fine. Arlie is an alias.”

“And I’m almost totally confident you’re not supposed to tell us that either!”

Perry throws up his hands. “Why are you so stressed about this? It’s not like they can hear us.”

“No, but you’re about to walk into a bar where there are people who are after my best friend when you know his exact location and everything we know so far.”

“Which isn’t much,” I add.

“But that’s still information. They don’t need to know how much or little we know. And, no offense, Perry, but you’re exactly the type of guy who’d squeal under torture.”