Valentina
I stood in front of a chain diner restaurant with two large manila envelopes tucked under my arm. "Here it goes," I murmured, pushing through the door. It was early morning, but that didn't matter in an open 24-hour place like this.
I scanned the tables and quickly spotted Jen, who waved me over. "I trust you were able to get away safely?" she said as I slid into the dilapidated booth across from her.
"For now," I said. "I've built up enough trust to make this trip, but I'll need to be back by midday, or he'll get suspicious."
"Still progress," Jen said as the server came up. I ordered coffee—I couldn't stomach any actual food—and she ordered in typical suburban housewife fashion, with a million substitutions to create some egg-white abomination of an omelet that would probab
