“Yeah, like I haven’t heard that one before.” Susan looked put off, so Rainy slid over the fifty dollars she’d been palming, the bill she’d marked. It was like the movies, but with no promise of the outcome: Susan could spit in her face. To her relief, the money disappeared beneath Susan’s palm.

“There’s, like, four restaurants in there. Don’t know which one he’s at. He never stops talking. Told me he’s using the stuff in some of the drinks he makes. The other one doesn’t say much, just buys a couple things—the syrup, energy drinks and candy bars—and is on his way. Happy?”

“Not yet.” Rainy stepped aside to let a family carrying chips and sodas check out. “What does the other guy—the one who’s not the bartender—look like?”

The father of the chip-and-soda family side-eyed her as he swiped his card and his wife said something to him in a language Rainy thought might be Russian. She glanced at Rainy before ushering her children out the doors to wait for their father.

Susan waited for the man to leave before her head snapped toward Rainy. She wasn’t in friendly mode anymore.

“You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Then answer fast and I’ll be on my way.”

She shrugged. “He’s, like, a few inches taller than you. White like a vampire. Black hair, light eyes. He’s just a guy.” The look on her face said, Get the fuck outta here.

But Rainy couldn’t do that just yet. This was an information-gathering mission. If she didn’t get enough of it, or get it right, she’d die.

“Anything special about him?”

Susan blew air out of her mouth with a pffft sound.

“Yeah,” she said. “He drinks that coffee syrup.”

Rainy smirked. “What about any tattoos?”

That got a little pause. “No,” she said finally. “No tattoos. But his roots were showing like he hadn’t dyed his hair in a bit...and they were light.”

“Hey, thanks,” Rainy said. She ducked out of the store. That would have to be enough.