"Expecting what?" Skater asked. Duran stood behind him. Their voices were low and muffled by the stacks of crates and packages filling the small warehouse off Clay Street where Tallow did business. By day, the warehouse handled soy and artificial foods shipped in from the United Canadian and American States. By night, Tallow moonlighted as an organlegger for Nightingale’s Body Parts when product was needed and wouldn’t be too closely questioned as to the source. As long as it was good.