A hand reaches through my line of vision and plucks the last dart from my hand. “Still playing games you can’t win?” asks Elliott’s voice. Having expected him to try to catch me off-guard again, I don’t startle this time, and when I turn to look at him I smile at the annoyance in his eyes. Point, me.

“Who said I can’t win?” I reply easily. “In fact, I think I’ve done well enough to earn a prize.”

Moldy teddy bears and holey tourist-tastic T-shirts dangle from lines strung across the booth’s ceiling. I sort through them until I come upon a small stuffed fox that looks only a little bedraggled. I grimace at the selection—foxes creep me out, with their too-canny eyes and their sharp little noses—but I stick it in my pocket anyway for the sake of irritating Elliott.

“You’re late,” he says. The annoyance in his eyes filters through to his voice. My smile grows and sharpens.

“I’m a busy guy,” I tell him. “I just inherited all Sam Garcia’s clients, after all.”

It’s not exactly true—many of Sam’s buyers, and likely my own, too, will go to ground after today—but the comment hits its mark. Elliott turns without a word and strides across the boardwalk. “Are we doing this or what?” he demands over his shoulder.

I stroll after him, wearing a casual mask to hide the uncertainty that tumbles through my stomach at his words. Part of me still worries he might be inclined to rat me out afterward, but I’ve taken what precautions I can, and this deal is a gamble I have to make. It makes me feel only a little better to know that ratting me out would be as dangerous for him as for me. The mayor strictly enforces her zero-tolerance policy for anyone caught participating in deals like this, which means snitches are as likely to face exile as us dealers.

“Depends on what information you’ve got to trade,” I reply.

He stops in front of a building—an arcade, judging by the tattered sign—and pulls its glass door open. He looks at me over his shoulder. “I know where the helicopter is and who pilots it,” he answers. My heart does an elated somersault, and I do my best not to let it show on my face as he continues. “It’s leaving tonight to see if they can find any salvageable supplies to bring back from the mainland; rations are getting low, and the mayor is desperate enough to finally authorize the use of fuel. I can get you a gun, can tell you where the chopper will leave from. You can stow away. Hijack it once it lifts off.”