When Te Purewa swaggered in at about nineteen hundred hours, I was glad enough to see him that I'd have gladly stuck out my tongue at him—or any other portion of my anatomy, for that matter—if it would make him look on me more kindly. He saw me the moment he came in the door, and his scowl raised the stink-eye quotient by a significant factor. I glanced over to the hard-eyed waitress—I'd already explained to her what I wanted her to do and slipped her a big enough tip that she might actually remember—and gave her the nod.