Perry ground his teeth and squeezed his beer. The idea of doing this in a big group had seemed like a good idea. Dirty Max's was certainly full of camaraderie, the smell of roasting meat and the chatter of nearly a hundred voices. He heard Hilda laughing at something Lester said to her, and there were Kettlewell and his kids, fingers and faces sticky with sauce. Lester had set up the projector and they'd hung sheets over one of the murals for a screen, and brought out a bunch of wireless speakers that they'd scattered around the courtyard. It looked, smelled, sounded, and tasted like a carnival. But Perry couldn't meet anyone's eye. He just wanted to go home and get under the covers. They were about to destroy Freddy, which had also seemed like a hell of a lark at the time, but now -- "Perry." It was Sammy, up from Orlando, wearing the classic Mickey-gives-the-finger bootleg tee. "Can you get fired for that?" Perry pointed. Sammy shook his head. "Actually, it's official. I had them produced last year -- they're a big seller. If you can't beat 'em... Here --" He dug in the backpack he carried and pulled out another. "You look like a large, right?" Perry took it from him, held it up. Shrugging, he put down his beer and skinned his tee, then pulled on the Mickey-flips-the-bird. He looked down at his chest. "It's a statement." "Have you and Lester given any thought to where you're going to relocate, after?" Perry drew in a deep breath. "I think Lester wants to come to Orlando. But I'm going to go to Wisconsin. Madison." "You're what now?" Perry hadn't said anything about this to anyone except Hilda. Something about this Disney exec, it made him want to spill the beans. "I can't go along with this. I'm going to bow out. Do something new. I've been in this shithole for what feels like my whole life now." Sammy looked poleaxed. "Perry, that wasn't the deal --" "Yeah, I know. But think about this: do you want me there if I hate it, resent it? Besides, it's a little late in the day to back out." Sammy reeled. "Christ almighty. Well, at least you're not going to end up my employee." Francis -- who had an uncanny knack for figuring out the right moment to step into a conversation -- sidled over. "Nice shirt, Perry." "Francis, this is Sammy." Francis had a bottle of water and a plate of ribs, so he extended a friendly elbow. "We've met -- showed him the bicycle factory." Sammy visibly calmed himself. "That's right, you did. Amazing, just amazing." "All this is on Sammy," Perry said, pointing at the huge barbecue smoker, the crowds of sticky-fingered gorgers. "He's the Disney guy." "Hence the shirts, huh?" "Exactly." "So what's the rumpus, exactly?" Francis asked. "It's all been hush-hush around here for a solid week."