Speaking of the bourbon: while they traded turns, the flask came out again, and Eliot passed it over before taking a healthy swig of his own. So maybe this encounter hadn't resulted in an ideal outcome from Eliot's perspective. The guy was enjoyable enough just to hang out with.

There were a few lucky rolls on his part, but in the end, Eliot's game came out to a modest total of 190. He shrugged it off while he crushed the butt of his cigarette under his shoe.

"So, which neighborhood did they drop you into?"