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"Monday," I say. "Eight a.m. Don't be late."

He waits. He wants the name. I get in the truck.

He knocks on the window as I'm backing out. I roll it down.

"I snore, by the way," he says. "Fair warning. My sister says it's like sleeping next to a leaf blower."

"Great."

"And I talk in my sleep. In French. Mostly about food."

"Great."

"You're going to love it." He steps back, and then, just before I roll the window up, he says, "Thanks for throwing it out, though. Even if it was for the wrong reason."

He walks away before I can answer. Moretti's not the only one who knows how to win a conversation.

Chapter Six

RÉMY

The team plane has assigned seats, which nobody told me.

I find out when I sit down in the second row, in a big leather seat by the window, and Kowal stops in the aisle and looks at me like I've parked in his driveway.

"Up," he says.

"Good morning to you too."

"That's my seat."

"It doesn't have your name on it."

"It's had my name on it for eight years." He doesn't raise his voice. Kowal never raises his voice. He just stands there, blocking the aisle, and waits, and the three guys behind him wait too, and the flight attendant with the coffee cart waits, and I realize the whole front of the plane has gone quiet.

I get up.

"Where do I⁠—"

"Back," he says, and sits down.

The back of the plane is where the rookies and the fourth-liners and the black aces sit, in the regular seats, near the bathroom. Sorel's already there with a neck pillow on, and he waves me into the seat next to him like he's been saving it.

"You sat in Kowal's seat," he says.

"How was I supposed to know?"

"There's a chart. Equipment guys have it. They didn't give it to you?"

"No."

"Huh," Sorel says, which means he thinks somebody didn't give it to me on purpose. He takes out one of his earbuds and holds it out. "Want to listen to a podcast about a guy who murdered his whole family in Saskatchewan?"

"Is that a real question?"

"It's very relaxing. The host has a nice voice."

I put the earbud in. The host does have a nice voice. I fall asleep before we're over Iowa, and I dream about Kowal driving the Zamboni into a lake.