A midsize fellow with hair the color of wet cardboard under the lights twists to watch Vince emerge from under a streetlamp. “The f**k are you?”
Vince exaggerates an unconcerned frown, waving his hand dismissively. “Just had a quick question about some work of yours a few weeks back.”
The others are crowding around, shifting to stand behind Wet Cardboard in a way Vince is sure is properly intimidating to some. He catches the woozy sway a few of them are throwing off, the over-dilation of several pairs of eyes. He can smell malt liquor and he can guess well enough what else they might be on.
“Granddad thinks he knows our work, then?” Cardboard jeers. His hyenas seem to find it amusing enough, laughing dark and mean where they rustle into each other, almost seeming to sway with the wind o
