Cassidy reached over to pick up the bottle, to peruse the label. Not bad. Not top shelf, maybe, but not certainly not shite.

This had to be some kind of scam. Only he couldn’t figure out the game, and now the bottle was in his hands, so he set about uncapping it. As she lifted her drink, he lifted his...

...and kept drinking, swallowing the whiskey in gulps straight through her saying nothing to do, at which point he finally lowered it and swallowed through gritted teeth. There. Now he was feeling something.

"Maybe you can help," he echoed, still trying to puzzle her out.

Nope. Couldn't do it.

"You make this a habit, do you? Offerin' to help strange men who walk into bars lookin' like I do. Shirts covered in blood. That's your thing."