After hearing Chester’s abrupt conclusion to their conversation, Dumas pulled the phone from his ear and glared at it indignantly.  But he trusted the magician’s judgment.  If Chester didn’t think he could talk right now, then he probably couldn’t.  With a resigned shrug, Dumas returned the phone to his jacket pocket.<br/><br/>Now what?  Dumas didn’t know where Chester or Mari might be, and without a signal receiver for the tracker he didn’t have any way of finding out.  Besides, even if he could locate them, Chester’s inability to talk might mean that he also didn’t want company.  Dumas wondered if he should just go home.  And do what?  Try to get some sleep?  That was difficult under the best circumstances -- no amount of morphazine would be able to knock him out while he was worried about his friends.<br/><br/>Lost in his thoughts, Dumas had nearly forgotten about White.  But now his gaze once again fell on the dj.  He did still owe White a little something for helping out.  And it would kill some time.  “I think we passed a bar a couple of blocks back,” Dumas informed.  “You want to get a drink?  My treat.  Since, you know...you apparently need all your money for groceries.”<br/><br/>Dumas always had enough money to buy what he wanted, because out of everything in the whole wide world, he only truly wanted four things.  One didn’t cost any money.  Two couldn’t be bought with money.  And the price of the final thing was being covered by his medical insurance.