The men were all older than them—probably closer to thirty than twenty.

“You got the money?” one of them asked.

Queso handed it over. Lennon tried to hide his surprise. He hadn’t realized that the north was still using paper money. Or that Queso was willing to fork it over for them.

“Why don’t you go grab those girls you left in the van and hang out for a while?” another guy asked. He nudged his friend and they both laughed.

“Trust me, you don’t want anything to do with those girls,” Queso said with a forced laugh.

“I want something to do with all girls,” the guy said, and then stuck his tongue out in a way that made Lennon wish he didn’t have eyeballs.

“You’ve got three of them in there,” the guy said. “Don’t be greedy.”

“We can’t stick around,” Queso said. “If I don’t get this stuff back to my boss, he’s gonna be pissed. And the girls are, uh, for him.”

“Your boss sounds fucking greedy,” the guy muttered. “Whatever. Third row, in the middle.” He tossed him a set of keys. “Put the crates back like you found them.”

“Got it.”

Queso turned, and Lennon fell into step beside him as they walked away.

“They think you’re just grabbing something from the truck?” he asked under his breath.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Cold meds.”

“And how are they going to react when we drive that whole truck out of here?”

“Not well, I imagine.” He looked at Lennon. “You’re sure you can handle a truck?”

“Oh yeah.”

Queso appeared skeptical.

“I totally can. Trust me.”

“Absolutely not. But I will let you drive because I’m honestly really nervous that I’m going to kill someone if I do it.”

“I wouldn’t be super upset about it if it was one of those guys, though.”

Queso snorted.

They weaved around broken-down cars to the back of the lot, where three eighteen-wheelers were parked. Two were ancient and dirty, but one was in excellent condition. Queso walked to that one and hopped up to the driver’s side. He stuck the key in the lock, and pulled the door open.

“Did you have to pay a lot for those cold meds?” Lennon asked.

“Yes.” He climbed over the driver’s seat and disappeared to the back of the truck.

“That was nice of you.”

“Not really!” he called. “This is it. I see the stuff.”

“Not really?” Lennon repeated. He climbed up into the driver’s seat.

Queso appeared from the back of the truck. “Money isn’t an issue.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” He wondered what Queso did up here that money wasn’t an issue.

Queso slid into the front seat beside him, glancing at him as he buckled his seat belt. “Wait to start the engine until you see the van leave.”

Lennon nodded, finding the van in the distance, still parked.

“Those guys don’t know you?” Lennon asked. “It’s a small territory.”

“I’m wearing a mask.”

“Still. I can recognize people with a mask on.”