BY SEVEN, a crowd was beginning to build in Radio Girls. By eight, it was a decent throng for a weekend night in a lesbian bar. At least, that’s what North thought. He’d never been in a lesbian bar before—and fuck Shaw, he thought absently, for those stupid jokes—but this was more business than he’d expected.

By nine, the bros were there. Thirteen of them tonight. All of them white. All of them wearing clothes that looked casual but had doubtless cost a fortune—North knew because he had gone to Chouteau College with this exact same caliber of bro, and he knew because he’d never had any money. They were loud. They laughed and high-fived and bumped fists and bumped chests and shouted and drank and drank and drank and shouted some more. They crowded around the booths near the east bar, just as Daksha had said, until the women in those seats grew irritated enough to leave, and then they spilled onto the banquettes, laughing and cheering and drinking and bumping fists.

Thirteen of them. North figured he could get three out of commission before the others realized what was happening. He wasn’t Rambo or Bruce Lee—there was probably some more current action-hero analogy, someone played by Jason Statham or Vin Diesel or the Rock, but it just wasn’t coming to North right then—but he had gotten in fistfights with Chouteau boys before. He’d been brawling while they’d been learning to stroke or sit a horse or speak Mandarin. Shaw could probably take out three before the rest of them got going. But that would leave ten, and ten guys, even ten bros like these, could still beat two broke-ass detectives.

“I think we could just talk to them,” Shaw said, bouncing on his stool, his eighteenth Coke sloshing in his hand. “I think if we explained how much this was upsetting the women, if we just made it clear—”

“They know how much it’s upsetting them. That’s part of the game.”

Shaw was squirming so hard he was about to slide off the stool. “I know, I know, but I don’t think they really understand. I don’t think they really get it. I think if we just—”

“You’re wired.”

Shaw tried to settle down. It was obvious. And after about fifteen seconds, he started wriggling again.

“No more,” North said, taking the Coke and setting it behind the bar.

“I’m fine, I’m totally fine, I’m just excited about the chance to help these guys open their eyes, really open their eyes and understand—”

“All right,” North said, checking his watch. It was half-past eleven, and the bros were starting to get sloppy. “Let’s go talk to them.”