The man grins suddenly, his teeth flash, and every one of them might be gold. "Well, you can talk to me," he drawls, leaning over the bar, his voice taking on a conspiratorial air. A thread of unease is working its way through Mike's middle, but the potential reasons for that are myriad and confused. He leans in as well, toying with his half empty glass.

"You know what we need, then. We can pay once we get it, believe me." He fishes in his pocket and pulls out another shotgun shell, nudging it across the bar. "And that's for your trouble."

The man grins again, pockets the shell and nods across the room to a thin, weasily looking man engaged in intense conversation with someone about twice his size. "He might be a good start."