37
Dinner had had time to settle, leaving Dale feeling a little too full. If he tripped, he might pop. At least he hadn’t eaten until his stomach hurt, though. The meal’s comforting weight would normally make him drowsy, but the rising and ebbing crowd noise surging up the stairwell kept his shoulders clenched.
He really wanted to go back to his room.
Or back to Detroit.
But Surge had drawn him into a conversation. Dale needed to take advantage of that.
The Git fan was a middle-aged guy with a shock of prematurely white hair and skin so pale the veins of his face were visible even under the bar’s can lights. His dark T-shirt and jeans made him look even more pale. “Lash was the one who put the kibosh on Git.”
“Not just him,” Surge said.
“The Senate was split five-to-four Subversion,
