I held my hand out for Jung’s address. Bucky had written it down in purple crayon. Jung didn’t live far, but it was still farther than I wanted to go. I didn’t want to do this. I was tired. I needed to work for real pay, not trail around after Jung. I also had another summons sitting on my desk that I needed to hand off. That was money in the bank. Jung’s little game was a distracting time-suck I literally could not afford.

Who died and made me his babysitter, anyway? Nobody, that’s who. I scribbled a note on the back of Bucky’s menu in black crayon—a color that matched my current mood. I looked up to catch Bucky grinning like an idiot. “Does Jung have any family in town?”

“Dude doesn’t have family anywhere. Lost his folks in a car crash some years back and he’s an only kid. I think he mentioned an old uncle once, but don’t hold me to that. Jung’s made his own family. Me too. My folks aren’t dead, but they might as well be. We hang together, along with a few other misfits.” He shrugged. “It’s what we call ourselves. It’s almost as good.”

I felt like whimpering, not for Jung, for me. Jung was getting under my skin, and I didn’t want him there. That his family history closely resembled mine didn’t help one bit. Little by little, I could feel Jung reeling me into his nonsense, and I was fighting it hard, like a ten-pound catfish caught on a fifty-pound fishing line.

I handed Bucky my note. “When you see him, give him this. If he calls you, read it to him.” I handed him one of my cards. “All the numbers work. Tell him to use one of them.”

Bucky read the note aloud. “‘Knock it off. Call me. I friggin’ mean it. Cass.’” He gave me an off-kilter salute. “Roger that.”

After slurping up the last of his shake, he stood. Sheepishly he patted his pockets, posturing as though he’d misplaced his wallet. It was a timeworn ruse, but Bucky T. had misjudged his environment. Deek wouldn’t just make him wash dishes to pay the shakes off, he’d likely feed his compact body into the massive meat grinder he had in the back room, then make hamburger patties out of what came out of the business end.

“I’m, like, way short here,” Bucky offered apologetically.

“Go,” I said. “Go quickly, or your friends will never see you again.”

Bucky double-timed it to the door. Muna walked up with Jung’s address on an index card, though I no longer needed it.

She eyed the table, and then shot me a look that would have melted Bucky T. down to a puddle of human fluid. “Why am I not seeing any money on that table?”