There was also a car parked next to the ’booth, muddy and dinged up. At the front of the crowd, in the Boss’s place of honor, stood a slender figure in a blue jacket, brown hair rumpled by the wind, his back got by a man considerably larger, a stocky woman in a good warm coat at his right hand. In the seat across from Miri, Penn Kalhoon visibly relaxed. “My experience with the Boss is that he’s timely,” she commented. “Said he’d meet us, and here he is.” Penn shot her a look, lenses flashing, and maybe a little extra color in his cheeks. “Good to be back on my own turf,” he said, matching her tone for dryness. “Old habits.” “It is always a relief,” Val Con murmured from beside her, “to raise a friendly port.” Which was overstating the case, at least in the opinion of Miri’s own set of old habits. Every single one of her nerves was on end, and had been, since they got in the car, and drove two blocks to where the tollbooth for Boss Vine’s territory used to be.
