catch sight of the klepto and her stash of breakfast goods. For a moment, Vulture's attention is brought back around to the front desk attendent like a pair of Naval battle cannons, "Are y'try'n t'start shit, Dicky?" The voice goes quiet, and chill, "Y'try'n t'say that I can't fuck'n afford t'stay here? Did I fuck'n ask f'my goddamn money back, or f'charges t'be dropped?" He points back to the now, mostly empty, Continental breakfast trolley, "I woulda liked some fuck'n breakfast... but 'pparently y'don' keep th'goddamn thing stocked up like't should be... do you?"