“Oh, can’t complain.” She spoke as if she had all day to talk about it. “All you can do is hang in and hope it gets better, right?”

“Right.” I let a beat pass. “Where’s Jung?”

“Don’t know. But when he didn’t show up this morning, Deek fired him. He left you something, though. I’ve been calling you all morning, kept getting your voice mail.” She pointed behind me, toward a booth. I turned to find a scruffy-looking twentysomething coloring the paper menu reserved for toddlers, a chocolate shake next to him. I turned back to Muna. “He left me a person?”

“Says his name is Bucky T. Something. I’m sure he said more than that, but he tickled me so, I missed the rest of it. He’s been here a couple hours. That’s his third shake and his second kiddie menu. I think the word game stumped him, so he moved on to the coloring portion about a half hour ago. What’s going on?”

I turned back to the scruffy boy, who appeared consumed by his coloring project. “No idea, but I’m going to need Jung’s phone number and address.”

“Mr. Byson doesn’t have a phone, but I think I’ve got his address here somewhere. You see to him, and I’ll get it for you. And if Mr. Crayons knows what’s good for him, he better have money for those shakes. Deek ain’t a freebies kind of person.”

Bucky was short and squat with a prominent widow’s peak and heavily hooded eyelids, which gave him the look of a sloth-like basset hound. I stood at the booth, towering over him, watching as he colored an apple in orange crayon.

“Bucky T.?”

He looked up. “Yeah?”

“I’m Cass Raines. You’re here to see me?”

His face brightened, his eyes danced. “Oh, yeah, sure am.” He got to his feet, smoothing out his faded Grateful Dead T-shirt and grungy jeans. “Hi. Name’s Bucky T., but my friends just call me Buck.” He reached into his front pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Special delivery from one Mr. Jung Byson, one of my main bros.” He handed it to me, then sat back down and took a long swig of shake. I slid in across from him, watching him work the thick liquid through the red-and-white-striped straw.

“Go on. Open it,” he said when he came up for air. “Dude was totally jazzed about your getting it ASAP.” He folded his chunky fingers over a paunchy middle, relaxing as though he had all day to wait. He reminded me a lot of Jung.

“When did he give you this?”

Bucky snorted. “Whoa. That was like a million years ago. I’d have to think long and hard to remember the deets.”