Re: 'delivery'
[Something in what he says, somewhere along the line of those words, makes the woman's face go a little softer. She seems to remember herself, because - and quickly - the softness returns to the blank and harmless expression from before. She's lined, the old woman, and her eyes are impossibly dark, impossibly deep.
She reaches behind the counter, down and without needing to look, and she pulls out another little envelope. It, too, is white, and it matches the one from the club with perfect precision. The cardstock is the same, and the lip is folded under in the precise and same manner.
As before, the front has James written in simple script, the lettering indented into the paper.
Inside, just a phone number.
The phone is a burner - unlisted and untraceable - should he call.]