Sarah’s eyes flashed with anger, but she kept her tone even, level.<br/><br/>“You’d be surprised how much money is in vintage comic books,” she said.<br/><br/>“Ignore the brute squad and her so-called sense of humor,” Dale turned on the charm. “Who pointed you our way?”<br/><br/>“Some Doberman. Said to tell you Dutch okayed the meet.”<br/><br/>“Little guy? Gold hoop earring in his left ear?”<br/><br/>“No—he was built like a fridge. No bling. Had a state championship ring on, though. PSU jersey, number 38.”<br/><br/>Junior excused himself and headed for the restrooms, clearly intending to make a quick verification by phone, but it was not like Little Dutch Thomson was easily mistaken, and the Mare had just described him pretty well.<br/><br/>“And did he give you any names?”<br/><br/>“No, just said to look for, uhm...” she blushed and gestured to Skye and Dale. “You two, pretty much. But I don’t think I ought to repeat his exact words.”<br/><br/><br/><br/>