"Black, three sugars.  Gotcha."  The bartender nodded, turned to his work...and a moment later, a steaming mug of fresh java sat before her, along with three sugar packets.<br/><br/>"Figure you'd rather do the honors yourself," the man winked at her.  "I gotta say, you're taking this a lot better than the last poor slob who came in by the revolving door.  'Course, he didn't have anything on but a towel."<br/><br/>Anything more had to wait for a few moments, because one of the waitresses brushed past Kristen.<br/><br/>"Two bangin' canoes and a proper pint, Louie."<br/><br/>"Will do, Shirl.  'Scuze me.  Gotta earn my paycheck."<br/><br/>With a shrug, the barkeep attended to his job and let the pro wrestler drink her coffee.  Her request did not go completely ignored, though, because the man beside her nudged her elbow.<br/><br/>"What's to explain," he said.  "This is a bar.  You walked in through the revolving door, and here you are.  If you're lucky, you'll be able to find it again when you need it."  He chuckled...kind of a sad sack of a fifty-something private eye wannabe, judging by the coat, the cheap suit, the three day shadow on his cheeks and chin.  "So what do you do?"