Day Twelve

There was nothing quite like the experience of waking up to someone standing over you in the dark of your bedroom at half-past midnight. Phoebe glared up into the dark at the tall shape of Rick standing over her bed, mere inches away. The only thing stopping him from being closer was the tip of her sword, which was level with his lower abdomen. Her grip was firm, the sword length and balance crafted expressly for one handed use. "What do you want, Rick," she sighed, sitting up slowly without lowering her weapon.

"What, are you gonna-are you gonna skewer me, Phoebe?"

She lifted the shoulder of the arm not holding the sword then let it drop in a one-sided shrug. "I didn't know who it was, Rick. I had to be prepared." At last she lowered her weapon and laid it on the sheets beside her. She patted the edge of the bed near her feet. "Sit. Tell me what crazy ass shit you have planned now. More smuggling? Maybe a heist? Starting a coup and overthrowing a government?"

Rick grinned darkly. "Enthusiasm is a good thing, Phoebe. All in good time."

He sat down facing her, and it made her a little uneasy to have him that close. Her fingers brushed idly over her sword as if to offer comfort, to remind herself it was still there. "So, Rick, what's up?"

He leaned forward, peering intently at her. "The three of us, you, me, Morty, in space. I need to-to—" belch "—deliver something, Phoebe. It's worth a lot of money, Phoebe, space money, and I need to deliver it tonight, Phoebe."

"Alright," she said, picking up her sword with the sharp end carefully pointed away from Rick's chest. She pushed the covers back from her body. She was wearing a baggy Slytherin House T-shirt and pajama bottoms covered in skipping Pikachus and Eevees. "I need to get dressed. If you could get up and turn around that would be great."

Rick rolled his eyes but complied, standing by the door with his back to her. "Still don't trust me?"

"Hell no, at least not fully," Phoebe said as she threw her legs over the bed and pushed off of it. She gently laid the sword down and went to her bureau, rummaging around until she came up with a pair of black leggings. She stepped out of her pajama bottoms and shimmied into the leggings, then traded her Slytherin shirt for a tank top. To her surprise, Rick had actually replaced her weapons, if not her outfit, the day after their outing in Dimension 35-C that ended in their hasty escape from customs enforcement. She walked over to her closet and pulled the doors open, coming up with a long-sleeved, ankle-length black dress with ruffles and pleats. Pockets were discreetly distributed amongst the folds of fabric, and two slits for unconcealed pockets were on either side at the hips. She pulled the dress over her head, added a medium length cloak in a muted red, and walked over to her table, opening a drawer to weapons galore. "You can look now," she said, glancing at Rick.

He turned in time to watch her slip knives and senbon into all the hidden places. "Everyone thinks I'm into vintage or eccentric fashion," she explained, sliding in a knife. "And I am. But feminine clothes like that are also convenient, and because they're feminine people underestimate them and the wearer. I'm really, really into weapons, and usually it's fine to carry them if you don't take them out and start killing people in the middle of a government building or something." She straightened up and turned slowly to see how naturally the skirt hung. "When I was eight, my mom and I saw this guy at the fair throwing knives, and I wanted to learn. She wanted to wait until I was ten because she was afraid I'd slice my fingers off, but when I picked up fencing at school she caved." She looked up at Rick, who had an unreadable expression on his face. "How do I look?"

Rick stared at her. "Deadly," he finally said.

"Thanks." She shook her head and then returned her sword to its sheath, which also held a second pocket for her longer sword, strapping them onto herself. The cloak concealed them nicely. She looked back at Rick, who had the strangest expression on his face.

"Now are you ready, Phoebe?" He said, though clearly he'd almost said something else.

"I just need shoes," she said. "Go wake up Morty. I'll be out in a second."

He opened her door and stepped out soundlessly, giving the impression that he snuck around to wake up Morty quite a bit. As she tugged on her boots, she sheathed a dagger in each. She stepped into the hall, closing her room door softly. She saw that Morty's door was already open. She tiptoed toward it and glanced inside. Rick was just dragging Morty to the door.

"Your aunt's ready, let's go Morty."

Morty looked up at her and his eyes widened. "W-wow, I mean, geez, Phoebe, you look really pretty but you're dressed funny."

Phoebe smiled thinly at him. "Weapons," she said.

"Oh," Morty said, glancing between her and Rick. "You two should have been friends a long time ago."

"The near-death experience obviously helped bring us all closer," she quipped. "Now come on, let's go do this."

The unlikely trio crept downstairs as quietly as possible, then it was through the kitchen and through the door. Phoebe wished she could have been able to appreciate being in Rick's workroom. As it was she didn't have time to look around at the current projects and tools on his work surface or at the shelves of his inventions for more than a few seconds. They stopped in front of an odd vehicle that could have been the UFO out of any sci-fi novel or film ever, except it was all hodgepodge and definitely handmade. "Nice," she said. She noticed that there were exactly three seats. One looked...different. It took her a moment to realize it was because the third seat looked cleaner and less worn than the two in front of it.

"Hey, Rick, you added a seat!" Morty exclaimed.

Phoebe shot a look at Rick, who was looking at Morty with a scowl.

"Of—" belch "—of course I did, Morty. Had to have one for Phoebe."

Phoebe nudged him gently with her elbow. "Aw, Rick, you didn't have to."

"I didn't do it for you," Rick sneered. "I did it for me so I didn't have to hear you complain."

Phoebe snorted. "Sure, Rick."

She reached out, opened the door and climbed in, settling in the back. Morty sat shotgun, and Rick took the wheel. As the garage door opened, Morty said "So where are we going, Rick?"

"Yeah, Rick, we know the why but not the where," Phoebe said, stretching her legs out.

"Doolan 7," Rick said, messing with the controls. They were soon in the air, the garage door closing and the garage quickly fading into the distance behind them.

"You never said what you have to deliver, Rick."

"We're picking up a shipment of black market goods and dropping them off on another planet, then we're going to hit up my favorite bar." Huh, she didn't actually expect him to be honest with her. Maybe she was just used to him not being transparent with Morty (at least over the small span of time she'd seen them interact).

"You're trying to turn me into a criminal," she accused.

"Nah—" belch "—you're already a criminal, remember?" He glanced at her reflection.

Phoebe scowled. "Don't remind me. It's all your fault. You and your damn seeds." That night as she'd lain in bed she mulled over the events of the day and every word of Rick's speech, considering their "adventure". Once the shock had worn off and she had time to think things over, she felt she knew for a fact that Rick had set up everything that happened—barring little hiccups like Morty falling off a cliff or all of them almost getting eaten or her following them— so he could have free reign with Morty. She really hadn't been a part of the picture, but now he wanted to use her skills, which was fine because she was using him too. How else could she travel through space and dimensions? It was the opportunity of a lifetime, any scientist or sci-fi nerd's wet dream. It was like Dr. Who, if Dr. Who were abrasive, fond of vodka, and had a questionable sense of ethics. The space cruiser didn't exactly resemble a TARDIS, but it would do. Why not be useful if it meant he would also be useful for her? It was mutually beneficial, as far as she could tell. She shook her head minutely. Gods was she such a Slytherin. Sometimes she just forgot how ruthless she could be.

"Yeah, well, I never asked you to—" belch "—come along, did I?"

She glared at the back of his head, her eyes metaphorically boring holes into the bald patch. "Not until afterward," she retorted.

"Well do you want to go back, Phoebe? Do you—do you not want to come with us just because we had to kill a few bureaucrats?"

"I want to come with you, Rick," she snapped. "I'd be lying if I said otherwise. What you can do, the places you have access to...yes, I want to be here. Does hearing that make you happier, Rick?"

"Not really." One-handed, he pulled a flask out of his lab coat and took a swig. He'd already basically told her that he wanted her on standby in case they needed her again, but apparently he was still going to be an asshole about it. Phoebe rolled her eyes and sat back for the ride.

XXX

They descended through the atmosphere of Doolan 7 and landed in the middle of a forest clearing. Phoebe leaned forward, her head between Rick and Morty's shoulders. "This doesn't look like a pickup location, Rick."

"That's because it's—" belch, "—not, Phoebe. The pickup location is a mile or so away."

"Looks like you're getting some exercise, Morty," she said.

"Do you think it's safe?" He peered out into the dark. "I mean, oh man, l-last time we went somewhere we were almost eaten."

"Y-y-you're really hung up on that, Morty. It wasn't that bad, Morty."

"Don't worry, Morty, if something tries to eat us here I'll just stab it." She reached out and patted his shoulder in reassurance.

"See Morty? Now quit whining. Phoebe, can you pass forward those bags in the back?" She looked and saw that there were three extra-large burlap sacks. She grabbed them and passed two to the front. Rick and Morty opened the doors and got out, and Phoebe, suspicious that Rick would just close his door in her face, slid out after Morty. Rick started walking toward the far end of the clearing, Phoebe keeping stride with him while Morty was a few steps behind. Once they reached the tree line they set off single file. The trees looked somewhat like blue pines.

At their pace it took them half an hour to reach their apparent destination. The trees thinned out then abruptly ended, transitioning into tall, thin plants. Rick stepped forward, grasped the stem, and deftly plucked off the flower head. "Start filling the bags, Phoebe and Morty, and be quick. We don't want to get caught doing this."

"Let me guess, more prison?"

"Yep, except at this one they cavity search you with their tentacles."

Phoebe shuddered. She didn't want to personally test whether he was lying about it.

She and Morty branched out and began filling their own bags. "So what's the deal with these plants?" Phoebe asked, picking as quickly as she could.

"They're—" belch "—multipurpose. Depending on your species they're poisonous, cure erectile dysfunction, or make you trip balls."

"I didn't really expect the rest of the universe to outlaw recreational drug use—or space Viagra," Phoebe commented. She turned and plucked off of the neighboring two plants, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Rick switch plants too.

"They don't. Our little excursion tonight is illegal because the substances in this plant that are toxic to other species have been used in a lot of assassinations, so their purchase is monitored, Phoebe. That and I'm pretty sure the owner of this farm would be upset we're doing a little midnight harvesting."

Phoebe's hands faltered picking and she shot a disbelieving look at Rick. "We're stealing from a farm to sell their crop as our own?" she hissed.

"Yep," Rick said, continuing to pick.

"And we're selling outside of regulations," she continued, picking furiously from a fourth plant as if it had personally offended her.

"Yep," Rick said. He glanced at Morty's progress. "Try not to pick all in the same place, Morty. Do what Phoebe's doing and spread it out a little so it's less obvious—different plants, and different areas on them." Phoebe had wanted to avoid stripping all the blossoms off of the plants because she didn't want to disrupt the local ecosystem or affect pollination. Rick, apparently, just wanted to be able to come back and steal again.

"And knowing you we're selling directly to an assassin," Phoebe grumbled to herself as she moved to the next plant.

Rick didn't respond. They worked in silence, moving amongst the plants until the bags were filled.

"Alright, let's get moving," Rick said.

They wordless set off back in the direction of Rick's space cruiser, and thirty minutes later they emerged from the trees next to it. The bags were stored in the back next to Phoebe and then they were ascending into the night sky.

XXX

Apparently aliens have parking decks too, Phoebe thought to herself as Rick smoothly pulled into a space.

"Our contact should be here soon. Morty, you stay in the car. Phoebe, I want you to come with me."

Phoebe blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Well, yeah," Rick said as if it were obvious. "I know how good your aim is." Ah.

"What about Morty?"

"Yeah, Rick, I wanna come with you," Morty piped up.

"You're not coming, Morty. It's just a—" belch "—quick in and out, you'll only hold us up." He looked at Phoebe, very clearly letting Morty know there was no debate. "The car can protect Morty," he dismissed the concern, "Now can you pass the merchandise? Rhograr will be expecting us."

As soon as they stood outside, Rick holding two bags and Phoebe holding one, Rick raised his voice. "Ship, keep Morty safe."

The ship repeated the command in a feminine robotic voice, blue light on the inside flashing against the windows. "Keep Morty safe."

Rick led Phoebe away from the car and toward the door to the stairs, but instead of entering the stairwell they simply stood within a few feet of it.

"Don't we need a place a bit more discrete?" Phoebe lifted an eyebrow.

"Don't worry, Phoebe, I do all of my business this way."

Phoebe didn't feel at all reassured by that response, but didn't push it further.

"I assume your meeting time is prearranged?"

"Yeah, I made the call before I went into your room." He looked sideways at her. "I can't believe you sleep next to a sword, Phoebe, but I should have expected something like that from someone like you."

"And what's that mean?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You know exactly what it means."

"Right…"

They didn't have to wait long. A few minutes pass before a short, hairless, stubby-legged gray alien with a large bulbous head, long spindly arms, and a tail that ended in a third hand exited the stairwell. He was carrying a rather hefty bag that Phoebe assumed was money. Cash only payments so they can't be tracked.

"Riiiick," he called when he was about a foot away. "Good to see you." His bulging eyes went to Phoebe, and his wide mouth split into a lecherous grin. "And who's this?"

"A friend," he said, not elaborating any more than that.

Rhograr guffawed. "I didn't know you had friends."

Rick smiled grimly. "Just show me the money, Rhograr. Let's get this over with."

"Alright, Rick, don't be so impatient. Here are your seven thousand sheks." Rhograr shoved the bag of cash at Phoebe, who handed him her sack full of blossoms in exchange. Rick handed him his two sacks, and the exchange was complete. Phoebe expected him to count the sheks, but either Rhograr had never cheated Rick before or knew he wouldn't survive if he tried.

"Welp, nice doing business with you," Rick said, already done with him.

"Same, Rick, take care you prickly bastard," Rhograr replied, turning and waddling back toward the stairs. "And bring your friend more often!"

"Now for my favorite part," Rick said as they turned to walk back to the car. "Drinks."

"Oh, right, the bar."

XXX

Rick coordinated another smooth landing next to a rectangular navy blue cruiser.

"Morty, stick close to one of us," he said, turning to look at Morty. "Don't, ah, don't go to the bathroom alone, and if someone besides Phoebe says I told them to get you, don't go with them."

"I'm not five, Rick, I know about 'Stranger Danger'," Morty said defensively.

Phoebe slipped her hand into one of her pockets and withdrew a small knife. "Here, Morty, take this," she held it out to him. "It doesn't take much real skill. Just stick them with the pointy end and that should do it."

"Oh, that's rich," Rick said. "Morty's too much of a pussy to use that."

"I am not!" Morty objected.

Phoebe shook her head. "Even if that were true under normal circumstances, if he gets scared enough and thinks he's going to die, he'll use it."

"You hope," Rick added.

Phoebe rolled her eyes and withdrew another knife, holding it out to Rick. "You want one too, Rick?"

Rick looked amused. "I thought that was why we brought you along."

"And if I can't get to you fast enough?" She challenged.

"I'll take my chances," Rick shrugged. "Morty can keep his."

"Fine." She returned her knife to its hidden pocket.

The argument died and they were soon strolling through the parking lot. They passed by a few patrons, some returning to their own cruisers and some clearly going toward the bar. They reached the door just as a large, blue, humanoid alien with four arms opened it and went inside. Raucous laughter, swearing, clinking glasses and the low murmuring hum of conversation filtered out to them. Rick opened the door, not bothering to hold it open for Phoebe or Morty.

"Ass," she muttered under her breath.

Once inside Phoebe observed that the bar's patrons included a wide range of alien life: blob people, gear people, an alien who looked like they were hewn from rough stone, a fat orange one with small pointed ears and beefy arms, purple people with webbed hands and devices over what looked like gills on their necks, a few with feline features chatting to a few with serpentine ones, one that looked a bit like a toad, and one of the odd insect-like people that Rick had called a Gromflomite, were some of the ones she made note of as they walked across the room.

Rick made a beeline for an empty corner booth. Phoebe saw a potential problem arising before his thin legs touched the plush cushion padding the bench seat. Who would she sit next to? She had two choices. She could sit next to Rick, which could be uncomfortable since they would be close together, and inconvenient because she couldn't see him as he spoke. She could sit across from Rick and next to Morty, which would allow her to look at him while they talked, but depending on which direction Rick faced would turn her back on the room and keep her from seeing the door or any potential trouble. Then again, Rick himself might want to look out over the room to assess it for threats himself. Maybe she could just ask Rick to switch sides if it came down to it? But one look at him said otherwise. He would sit where he wanted. Damn.

When they got to the booth Rick took the side facing the rest of the bar and Phoebe bit her lip as she watched Morty slide in opposite him. Well fuck. She made a split second decision and slid in next to Rick on his side of the booth. Rick made a face. "Can't you sit with Morty?"

"No. I need to be able to see the bar." She rubbed along one of the pockets concealing weapons. The movement drew his eyes downward.

"Fine," he huffed. He grabbed a menu off of the stand started reading.

He made no move to share, so Phoebe looked over his shoulder. "What the hell language is that?" She asked by his ear, staring down at the odd symbols that had to be writing.

"Findaloo," Rick said, not even looking at her. "That's the local language."

"I didn't know you spoke other languages, Rick," she said.

"I didn't either," Morty commented.

Rick looked at them as if they'd said something idiotic. "I speak six earth languages and ten others. It's just that use of universal translators mean I don't have to use them very often."

"Which ones?" She felt genuine curiosity. She loved learning and hearing about other languages. She took both Spanish and French in school and she'd even gone so far as to learn a fantasy language. It was Elvish, which she had taught herself by the time she was eleven because she loved Tolkien. Her best friend from elementary school was Heba, the daughter of Lebanese parents, so she picked up Arabic that way. Mandarin and Cantonese she had learned from her grandmother's side of the family.

Rick glared then smirked. She was sure as much as he wanted to tell her to mind her own business he always probably wanted to show off. He liked showing off and being right and proving his point. A lot. "Well, we're obviously speaking in English, Phoebe. Then there's Spanish, from my Colombian grandfather, and Dutch from my grandmother." He went back to reading the menu.

"This might be news to you, but you're not the only one who can count. That's only three, Rick. What are the others?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Phoebe."

"Um, I'd like to know, too," Morty said.

"No one really cares what you want, Morty," Rick sneered.

"Uh. Culo," Phoebe grumbled.

Rick's silvery eyes strayed from the menu again to her face. "Basta! No es la hora."

Phoebe nudged him. "Dímelo."

He nudged her back. "No." He scanned the menu a third time, switching back to English when he spoke. "What kind of things do you like, Phoebe?"

That was pretty considerate of him, considering she couldn't read the menu. She leaned back into the booth, considering. "I like vodka, spiced rum, and whiskey, but I doubt they carry that."

Rick's fingers drummed on the table. "I'll just get you what I normally order."

"What about Morty?" She gestured at the boy, who was playing with a condiment bottle on the table. "Do they sell soda?"

"H-hey!"

"You're too young to be drinking," Phoebe told the teen.

"I started drinking when I was twelve, he'll be fine," Rick dismissed. "Anyway, they don't have underage drinking laws here so he's getting what we get." Rick closed the menu.

Phoebe blinked. "Are...are Beth and Jerry okay with Morty drinking?"

Rick scoffed. "Beth and Jerry aren't here to object."

"Thanks, Rick," Morty said.

Rick lifted up and slid over Phoebe's legs, the undersides of his thighs briefly touching her.

"Uh, Rick, really? You could have just asked me to move!" Phoebe protested, turning her head so her face wouldn't be pressed into his back as he passed over her, though there wasn't enough room to keep him from sliding against her front.

"That would have taken too long," he retorted. Once free he strolled to the bar, leaning over to speak to the bartender, a pretty pink humanoid with blonde hair and antlers.

"He's such an ass," she muttered to no one in particular.

"Yeah, that's just Rick," Morty replied.

Phoebe grumbled in Cantonese about mad scientists with attitude problems.

Rick came back with what looked like three over-sized pints, glasses that visually appeared to be huge beer steins, though Phoebe highly doubted they contained beer. Based on her and Rick's choice of alcohol it would undoubtedly have a much higher proof. He set one down in front of Morty. "Drink slow, Morty. Don't gulp it like it's Kool Aid and, you'll get a head rush like a dumbass."

"He's right," Phoebe confirmed, accepting one of the remaining two "pints" and taking a cautious sip. It was biting and bitter, but also sweet and spicy. It fizzed on her tongue even though it wasn't carbonated, and when it went down it left a warm, tingling feeling in her throat. "Mm," she hummed, licking her lips, eyes half closed. "This is good." She looked up and found Rick staring at her face far more intently than she expected. "Thanks."

Instead of commenting he just grunted, "Move over." Phoebe scooted further in and Rick plopped down beside her. Rick took a sip of the drink. "We got wings coming, you two."

"Wings? Oh, cool, Rick, a real bar experience!" Morty commented as he also took a sip of drink. Unlike Rick and Phoebe, it didn't go down smoothly. A moment later he coughed and spluttered, pushing his flagon away. "Too strong," he choked.

"No, Morty, you're just—you're just a wimp," Rick retorted, taking a second drink.

"He's just not as experienced as us," Phoebe defended him. "Try smaller sips, Morty, and don't drink too much before the food comes. You'll get too wasted too fast and drop like a fucking stone."

"Like a fucking stone, got it." Morty nodded determinedly and tried another, smaller sip. He didn't cough nearly as much, and smiled.

Phoebe gestured to Morty with her stein. "Just stick with me kid, I won't steer you wrong." The wings, blue-skinned with purple spots, arrived just then. They were larger than chicken or duck wings but smaller than turkey wings. She waited until Rick and Morty both bit into one, then Phoebe grabbed one, sniffed it, and took a cautious bite. The taste reminded her of chicken but had a strange tang to it that definitely had nothing to do with that particular bird.

"Decent," Morty declared, and she had to agree.

A pile of bones accumulated as the three of them worked through the mound. They were halfway through when a seven-foot fall lizard man stormed up to their table and spat out Rick's name like a curse. The brute slapped his hand—huge, meaty, three-fingered, opposable, the size of a large ping-pong paddle—on the table, leaning menacingly over Rick. Rick's hand moved inside his lab coat to grasp around one of the devices, but before he could fully draw it out someone else acted first. Seemingly out of nowhere the tip of a wickedly curved dagger stabbed into the table between two meaty fingers. Morty cringed into the booth seat, whimpering "Rick! Phoebe!"

"Back the fuck away or next time that'll be your hand," Phoebe snarled, and suddenly she was leaning over Rick, her furious face upturned and glaring at the alien crowding over the tall scientist.

Rick whistled. "I'd—" belch "—listen to her if I were you, dickweed." He finished withdrawing whatever he had his hand on, and Phoebe belatedly realized it was the freeze-gun. "Now just leave, quietly. Whatever I did to you, however I hurt you, I don't care and I'm not sorry."

The lizard man hissed angrily. "You slept with my wife then stole my building plans and sold them to my competitors!"

"Yeah, that sounds like something I'd do," Rick remarked. "Still don't care."

The lizard man drew back as if to punch Rick in the face. Rick touched the freeze-gun to his arm, freezing him instantly.

"Should we—should we go?" Morty lowered his hands from his face, where'd they'd previously flown up to cover his eyes.

Rick took a long drink before he answered. "Finish your drink, Morty."

"I'm not sure I can, Rick."

"Then give it here." He snatched the concoction and took it for himself.

"Do you need help finishing that, Rick?" Phoebe knew Rick drank all the time, but she didn't know how much he drank in one sitting.

"The day I need help finishing a drink you just—you just put me out of my misery," he snapped.

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "I didn't want you to be too fucked up to drive."

Rick laughed. "Phee, I've been much more fucked up than this and made it back in one piece."

"It's true." Morty's response didn't exactly make her feel better.

Phoebe scowled. "That doesn't mean you should make this a habit! You could kill us all!"

"I know what I'm doing." As if to prove his point he downed the remainder of Morty's drink as if it were a single shot.

"Ugh," Phoebe groaned in exasperation. She pulled her dagger out of the table and laid it flat within reach. With the food in her stomach cushioning her system she drank a little more freely. They all ate a little quicker and she and Rick finished their drinks. The more Rick drank the closer Phoebe watched him, but Rick didn't seem any different, no slower or duller, so she had marginally relaxed by the time Rick took out a few notes and laid them on the table.

"Rick," Phoebe said, leaning down to re-sheath the dagger. "Are we unfreezing this jerkoff before we go or are we leaving him like this?"

"Leaving him," Rick announced. "Morty, let's go."

Morty squirmed. "Um, Rick, I kind of need to go to the bathroom."

Rick scowled. "Well make it quick, Morty."

Morty scrambled out of the booth and made a frantic beeline for the bathroom. Apparently Rick had forgotten his previous, conflicting instruction to not going to the bathroom alone.

Phoebe took the time to nudge Rick gently with her elbow. When he turned and looked down his long nose at her, she said, "Thanks for bringing me with you, even if you're slowly corrupting me." She meant it as a joke, but part of her felt like it was true. Some of Rick's endeavors were quite obviously and decidedly illegal, judging by the lizard man he'd fucked over or the farm whose crops he skimmed off of to make a profit.

He shrugged. "It's-" belch "—what I do best, Phee."

She couldn't argue with that.