So the girl came alone. If nothing else can be gained from all of this, at least there is that-- she is exactly the kind of dealer that he wants. Reckless. Impetuous. And unambitious. If she had any motivation to make a name for herself amongst her fellow varmints, she'd have brought an army. The Ghouls haven't had any glory in ages. Even one dead Hellhound would be a boon for them, but she only brought herself and her rabid rage. It leads Rodeo to believe that she has no desires in his world beyond the drive for more wash. She'll work out well, then. It's the ambitious ones that end being trouble for him.
"Yeah, well, his playtime's over," Rodeo says dryly. "So is yours. Meet me at noon tomorrow. 1507 North Loop Boulevard. Bring my shit and you'll get yours." At that, Rodeo flicks the baggie towards Emilie. It zooms through the air, falling into the shadows cast by one of the comic racks. With her strange wide eyes, Rodeo is convinced she will be able to see it in the dark anyhow. Even if she can't, let her search. It will keep that knife of hers away from Sarge.
Speakin' of that devil. Rodeo looks to his friend, lifting his brows and delivering him with a harsh kind of look that is usually never turned his way. "You done yet? Or you wanna try something else? Hear jumpin' off Frost Tower is great this time o' year."