“You’re Fred? Sam’s friend?”
“…Yes, ma’am.” It was later than normal for a delivery.
“You can put the bags there, on the counter.” She tapped her cigarette ash into the kitchen sink, absent-mindedly played with the belt from her robe. “Sam said you’re quite the track star.”
“All-State, two years running. I’ll be on the college team come September.” He put the groceries down gently. He turned back, leaned against the counter. This is where I normally ask for a tip. “Sam mentioned you as well.”
“Well.” She smiled slyly, fangs just showing. “That makes this simpler, then, doesn’t it?”