Several minutes passed and yet another group of kids, none older than 20, materialized from the shadows. Each quickly took a bag from behind the bar and disappeared into different directions. Harley was busy texting Matt with one of the dozen or so disposable phones they’d purchased. When he was done, he looked at Cole with an expression of genuine satisfaction. Shorty was gone, having confirmed that whatever was in those bags was on the island and on its way. Half an hour later, Matt texted Harley back that all four bags had been dropped off at the house.
Harley finished off his beer, let out a loud burp, and said quite happily, “Now we’re in business.”
They settled their tab and walked back towards downtown. All four of them met up at Senor Frog’s, one of the more obnoxiously decorated
