Chapter 4

The man behind him let out a sigh, a sibilant hiss that conveyed disgust better than if he had cursed. “A club soda, easy ice, with a twist of lemon. Tall.”

Chip smiled, heedless of the condition of his teeth. “Right. Coming right up.”

Chip turned to busy himself getting their drinks. The man behind Wren moved next to him and spoke in soft, polite tones to the young Latino occupying the stool adjacent to Wren’s.

“Would you mind if I sat here? I haven’t seen my friend in ages, and we’d really like to catch up. Would it be too much trouble?”

The Latino, Wren could see, was beginning to form some sort of protest, but when he met the older man’s eyes, the fight went out of him like air out of a balloon.

“Sure thing, man. It’s all yours.”

He hopped from the stool, and Wren watched as he hurried away.

“My name is Davidson Chillingsworth, but you can call me Dave. Everybody does.”