The Goon handed Rhys a two cans of beer. Rhys kept one and handed Ell the other. For a moment it looked like she might hurl it full force back at him, but her eyes fell on the pistols on the table and the two men who belonged to them. She looked up at Barty in his nurse’s uniform with the nametag that read CHURNT. She shook her head back and forth in resignation and gamely opened her beer. She took a respectable gulp.

“We have a few questions for you. My associates and I are confused about some of the details of your big sale. We hope you’ll be less petulant as we get to know one another. Your cooperation is of the utmost importance.”

“In other words drink your beer, tell us what we want to know and we won’t cut you to pieces and feed you to a pack of wild dogs.” The Goon said pleasantly.

“You think I’m afraid of you murdering assholes?”

“Would murdering assholes offer you fried chicken?