“Ahh…” Wax said.

“Yep. Looks to me like he was trying to set them all off,” Wayne said, sniffling. “Get everyone in the room shootin’ at each other. See? It’s like how, to start a bar fight, you throw a bottle at some fellow and then turn to the person next to you and cry out, ‘Hey, why’d you throw that bottle at that nice fellow? Rusts, he looks big. And now he’s comin’ for you, and—’”

“I understand the concept,” Wax said dryly. He tapped the drawing pad. “You might have something.”

“It’s not catching.”

Wax smiled, writing some notes on the side of the pad. “So the killer wanted to sow chaos… He started a firefight by bouncing around the room, making it look like various parties were attacking one another. They would already have been tense, suspicious of one another…”

“Yup. I’m a genius.”

“You just recognized this because the killer was making others do his work for him, which is an expertise of yours.”

“As I said. Genius. So how are you going to find him?”

“Well, I was thinking of sending you to the Village to—”

“Not today,” Wayne said.

Wax turned to him, raising his eyebrows.

“It’s the first of the month,” Wayne said.

“Ah. I had forgotten. You don’t need to go every month.”

“I do.”

Wax studied him, as if waiting for a further comment or wisecrack. Wayne said nothing. This was actually serious. Slowly, Wax nodded. “I see. Then why haven’t you left yet?”

“Well, you know,” Wayne said. “It’s like I often say…”

“Greet every morning with a smile. That way it won’t know what you’re planning to do to it?”

“No, not that one.”

“Until you know it ain’t true, treat every woman like she has an older brother what is stronger than you are?”

“No, not… Wait, I said that?”

“Yes,” Wax said, turning back to his notes. “It was a very chivalrous moment for you.”

“Rusts. I should really write these things down.”

“I believe that is another thing you often say.” Wax made a notation. “Unfortunately, you’d first have to learn how to write.”

“Now, that’s unfair,” Wayne said, walking over to Wax’s desk and poking around in its drawers. “I can write—I know four whole letters, and one’s not even in my name!”

Wax smiled. “Are you going to tell me what you always say?”

Wayne found a bottle in the bottom drawer and lifted it up, dropping in the lace he’d taken from outside as a replacement. “If you’re going to have to do something awful, stop by Wax’s room and trade for some of his rum first.”

“I don’t believe you’ve ever said that.”

“I just did.” Wayne took a gulp of the rum.

“I…” Wax frowned. “I have no response to that.” He sighed, setting down his pencil. “However, since you’re going to be indisposed, then I suppose I will have to go visit the Village.”

“Sorry. I know you hate that place.”