“What’s wrong?” I ask after taking a small sip of water. But the answer becomes apparent as I turn my head to peer into the trunk. Two bags have tipped over, revealing a handful of smartphones. “Oh, shit, he—” “Yup,” Dex says through a clenched jaw. “Fucker bought sixty-eight iPhones, Len. Cleaned out every single version they had in stock.” Clever little weasel. I clasp my hand over my mouth and chuckle-gasp through my fingers. “You should’ve offered him cash. Oh, Dex…I must be the most expensive lay you’ve ever had.” He pulls out the black bag of Chex Mix—Bold Party Flavor from the bag on
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