“Psyche mentioned Crowley,” Sam said, pausing to drain half of his Fanta in one go. He wiped his mouth with the heel of his hand. “I was surprised to hear that there hadn’t been more commotion over one person taking control of the entire supply like that. Although she claimed he wasn’t too hard to persuade into sharing.”

He looked a little wary at the mention of the moonshine, although he didn’t say anything. When he’d said it was too bad there wasn’t beer he’d been thinking more about the fact that beer and pizza were supposed to be consumed together and less about getting drunk. Engine-oil moonshine sounded like it was entirely concerned with the latter.