I slide the bag across the table. The hooded figure peers inside. “Where the hell did you find this?” he asks Flatley. I catch a hint of something strange in his voice. Maybe it's frustration, but I choose to believe it’s just surprise. After all, I’m not usually the one to find anything, so his shock is understandable.

I grin widely and lean back in my chair, ready to bask in the praise I’m sure is coming. “I stole it back from them, boss. Just like you taught me. I waited. I watched. And then I made my move.”

I wait for his response. After a few long, awkward seconds of him just staring at me blankly, I look away and clear my throat nervously. “Aren’t you proud of me, boss?” I ask quietly, like a kid expecting a scolding.

Boss man sighs and removes his hood. His eyes, as stormy as an angry sea, glare at me as he shoves the bag back in my direction. “I don’t know who you thought you were watching, or what the hell you thought you were waiting for, but someone obviously outwitted you. Again.”

I scratch my head, unsure of what he means. Sure, I’ve been outsmarted a few times. But I did everything right this time. “I’m confused, boss. It’s all there. Every bit of it.”

He reaches angrily into the bag, pulling out a handful of the contents. “Take a whiff. Smell familiar?” he asks impatiently, the vein in his forehead now bulging. “This is grass. Not marijuana.”

I blink. “Grass? Like... lawn clippings?”

“Yes, like lawn clippings,” he says, exasperated. “I would highly suggest you stop smoking the product.”