Tom snorted out a laugh. "Get in line, sleezebag. You're hardly the first."

Tom followed, feeling the anger prickling under his skin, dangerous and unruly, not completely foreign but something he hadn't really felt since the last time he was here, half broken, unsure of himself, worried for Mike and Florence and the weight of an impossible task. Christos. The world was fucked beyond saving long before he'd come along.

"Any new skin on the market?" Tom asked without preamble. "Maybe you heard something today? Maybe one of your cars was out of the lot around the time of the gathering in Millennium park?"