He hears that we and can't conceal a smile. They've had a good run in the City, and as much credit as he'd like to take for his various business ventures, the partnership has been beneficial. Not that he's not personable, but there's always been hurdles when it comes to public relations and finding a niche with customers. He's spirited, sometimes to a fault, and far too familiar with solutions that involve leaving someone black and blue or worse. Maybe he's even learned a little patience and fiscal responsibility. Maybe a smidge.

"Yeah, almost."

He walks along quietly, sated by the cigarette and the hustle and bustle around them. You can only deter him so long, Meyer. He's full of curiosities and horrid at boundaries, but he knows a few drinks is enough to loosen up any pair of lips.

Finally they arrive at a building, a shabby remnant of what once might have been a storefront. It's smoky and gray, but the neon seems to brighten up the edges and make it somewhat cheery. A few girls linger out front, pretty and predatory, and fawn greetings with familiarity, happy to see a new face in tow.

"Look alive. It's a working man's dive in there, so they appreciate a little enthusiasm."

That's the only preface given before he's pushing the door open like the door to his own home, complete with a holler of a greeting and calling out the bartender by name. The room is still for a moment, all eyes transfixed on the two newcomers. After a breath, there's nothing short of eyerolls and grunts as the men continue to prod at the scratched pool table and slump against the faded lacquer on the bar.

"Whiskeys all around and get some sambuca out here. Don't skimp, you're only born once a year."

This seems agreeable to the crowd, and the roar gets just a bit louder inside. Al finds a place at the bar and is patting the stool next to him.

"C'mon, sit."