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Nobody at the table had 87153, or any other multiple of 29051, but the Italian guy had a prime—78317. The others congratulated him, more than one calling him Max. Dale studied his face, silently chanting Max Max Max as the others encouraged him to try the Napoleonic cognac or maybe see if the bar had some of that rare Etruscan 1821 vintage. Max waved them off and asked for a Blue.
The crowd around the bar wasn’t nearly as thick as it had been before dinner. Dale managed to grab a Labatt’s Blue for Max and, after a thought, a lime and tonic for himself.
Dale didn’t mind drinking. If he was to have any hope of identifying Lash’s killer, though, he needed the clearest head he could manage.
The crowd’s ongoing grumble abraded Dale’s nerves, creating a dull ache behind his eyes. Without
