Reg Waverly had not seen John Henry this upset in years. Whatever had transpired at the Enclave's Temple, it had punctured the Ambassador's aplomb like an 8-penny nail in a cheap tire.
The hour was getting late, and young Summers seemed to be attacking the bottle of bourbon more than Sophie's chicken. Reggie doubted they'd be "summoned" back to the Summit until "morning".
It was time to leave. Reggie rose and walked to the young Administrator seated at the counter. "Dane, I think we can safely say that the Summit won't convene again tonight. I have an old guitar at the Veranda that needs tuning. Think you could help me out?"
Within minutes the pair were headed out of town on Reg's Hoverbout. They would both need clear heads on the morrow.