I can’t take it anymore. I blab. I blab big-time. I tell Herk everything: the Clean Getaway on stilts in the boatyard; Deke keeping the title until I pay him off; the fight with Charlie; my cowardice regarding the proposal; my do-or-die agreement with Po-Mo; Nunes. Everything.

It’s a little bit terrifying to hear all of it spoken out loud, but in another way it feels really good. I suddenly feel much less alone.

“Ouch,” is all he says at first. Then, when he’s stabilized: “So who took first?”

I pry out the word.

“Schermer.”

“That talentless, shystie, Blistex-blowing motherfucker . . .” Herk’s face knots in outrage. “How?”

“Beats me.”

“That cumsock has never come within twenty-five points of you.”

“I know. But that didn’t stop him from laughing at me in the parking lot when I came out after the tests.”

“That sheepfucker . . . wait. He was where when?”

“Parking lot. After my comps. At, I don’t know, eight or something.”

“His comps were this morning. Early. I saw him after mine. At ten.”

“So?”

“Why would he still be at the office eight hours later? And why would he be laughing at you before any results were in? He’s never laughed at you about comps before, right? He’s never had anything to laugh about, has he? He’s Mr. Honor-able Mention, isn’t he?”

“Maybe he was laughing about the pachylax.”

“If he knew about the pachylax wouldn’t you have had dog shit in your locker?”

I shrug. “Probably.”

“How sure are you that you nailed the comps?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Well . . . don’t you get it?”

“Get what?”

“Schermer is on-site long after his slot. He’s laughing at you before the results are in. He outpoints you for the first time ever. Are you connecting these dots?”

“Not really.”

“Jesus, Otto. Maybe Nunes is right. Maybe there is a mang. But it isn’t you. It’s Schermer.”

“Get real.”

“Think about it. Schermer knows the pulse world inside out. He was at the same facility for the K’plua job. He distracted you, right? He was the floater on the Angkor Wat job. Entemena. The Inanna vases. He obviously has access to your locker. How tough would it be to switch one of your pills for pachylax?”

“Not that tough, I guess.”

“You keep a written record of your tox resistances?”

“I do, actually. I have a journal. I make notes in there.”

“You use a code or just plain English?”

“I guess I have a kind of shorthand but it’s not Pepys or anything.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I’d say it’s ninety-nine percent intelligible.”

“You ever keep it in your locker?”

“Sure.”

“Well, that would explain how the Rat Burglar always knows precisely what toxins to use. Wouldn’t it?”

“Do you know what kind of background checks Janus makes?”

“He’s always had it in for you. So why not?”

“I just don’t know.”

“Well, let’s go find out. If he’s the inside man then you can clear your name. Hell, maybe you’ll get the Nakamura job. Get Deke off your back. Maybe even get that boat.”