"Clyde..." She knew him--or at least knew of him--through Camelot, but they hadn't had much occasion to talk. It wasn't hard to gues, though, that this wasn't a social call.
She stopped what she was doing with whatever boxes of junk she'd been packing and unpacking at the mention of 'Jimmy or Sam' gone vigilante, listening closely as Clyde laid out his need to know.
"Damn it," she said, "I told him I didn't know where that yellow-eyed sonofabitch was. He's shielding like a mother--" she stopped herself before her temper could flare up and get the better of her. "I can't find him." But then... "Shit. He didn't go to LA, did he? Winchester, I mean."