DD lit a fresh cigarette off the cherry of the last butt, and took a drag. It hung in his mouth as he adjusted his tie.

He drummed his fingers on the bar to the tune of the jazz playing from the front of the place and glanced at the collection of bottles, and mirror behind them reflecting the rest of the bar.

In the reflection; Slick.

Covered in blood, suit rumpled.

Naturally.

He turned around beckoning the grimacing Slick toward him. “C’mere.”

Slick grumbled, but obliged, and DD wiped blood off his face with a napkin.

“Long night, Slick?”