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“Poor Kenny,” they say.

“Poor Kenny. Poor Charlie Karden. Poor whoever the hell those people were in the canyon or on the freeway. Is that really all there is to say about people getting killed for kicks?”

Janet frowns.

“You don’t understand. It could have been any one of us. It would have been me if you weren’t there. We signed up for this.”

“That’s fucked up, even for L.A.”

“I didn’t say I don’t feel anything. It’s just Lodge policy that mourning isn’t part of the ethos. So, yeah, poor Kenny.”

“He should have stuck to the hoodoo he knew. The creep could have gotten everyone killed.”

“Still. What happened to him. It . . .”

“Wasn’t fair? You’re not not mourning too well. You’ve got too big a heart. You’re too sympathetic to lost dogs.”

“Like you?”

I bark and they hug me.

I want to remind them of how many times they could have been killed and ask more about the Lodge Within the Lodge, but I can feel that this isn’t the right time.

Allegra and Vidocq come in, followed by Candy and Alessa. Janet goes quiet, still nervous around the others. It’ll pass. I hope.

With a full phalanx of L.A.’s most exotic, we muscle our way to the bar and clear an acre or so to drink. We’re on our second round when Brigitte arrives, all smiles and waving. Carlos has a cocktail waiting on the bar before she even reaches us.

“You’re looking chipper tonight,” he says. “Did you get some good news?”

Brigitte sips her drink a couple of times.

“I’m going home to Prague,” she says.

Candy goes over to her.

“What happened?”

Vidocq says, “So soon? Are the authorities forcing you out? There are things Stark and I can do to them that will make them change their minds.”

Brigitte sips her drink.

“No,” she says. “I’m leaving on my own. My lawyer said that if I leave voluntarily, I’ll have a better chance of being allowed to return.”

“How long will you have to go?” says Allegra.

Brigitte sets her empty glass on the bar.

“Just a little while. Five years maybe.”

Carlos curses quietly in Spanish and gives her another drink.

She says, “You won’t forget about me, will you?” She smiles . . . and then breaks down crying.

“It’s not fair,” says Janet, and gives me a “don’t you dare say a word” look.

I say, “Brigitte, Abbot is still working on this. He’ll come through better than any by-the-hour lawyer.”

She shakes her head.