Re: 'delivery'
[He watches the change in her expression. He very nearly asks her.
He turns the card over in gloved fingers, reads the name on it, and inclines his head to the woman behind the counter. He takes the perfume with him, like a talisman. He wishes, but does not expect, that it will have more to say to him.
It's almost twelve hours before he calls. By then, it's night. He's run the number and come up empty, he's dug up a burner for himself. He doesn't go back to the apartment, because if they tracked him well enough to drop off the clothes, they'll be watching. The apartment is one of the only places in the city he's stayed more than once. Maybe it was a mistake, getting that comfortable.
When he dials the number, he still has the bottle of perfume in the pocket of the gray hoodie. He doesn't know how to feel about the clothes, these gifts from a stranger good enough to track him without being noticed, even when he was on high alert. A brief scan with some 'borrowed' medical equipment (hospitals have such piss poor security) and a tumble in the washing machine at a public dry cleaner is reassurance that they haven't been doused with a chemical tracker. He can find nothing on them at all.