The man's beady eyes danced around the ally, flickering from corner to corner, pile to pile, remembering. Tom stood behind him impassively, trying to keep Neil's face in the forefront of his mind. Neil and Mike necking on the bed in the middle of the afternoon, Mike's hand drifting between Neil's legs, the amber fall of sunlight, the big, plush bed. Life has been better than it is right now.

And it will be, again. He had to believe that.

"Bosco," the little man managed, shoulders hunched. "Slaver. Keepth the skin outside town until sale day." Suddenly eager to be helpful, he glanced back at Tom before continuing. "Old Order gets first dibs. They want...um...you know. Bed warmer'th. And anyone that they could use...ah...politically."

He eyed Mike suspiciously, as if he'd just suddenly become familiar. "You're not political, are you?"