Part 8 of 9 - The Mysterious Man

I slap a thousand dollars on the counter, pretty much a third of my savings, and tell the bartender to wait ten minutes. I pocket my revolver, its duty done, confident that the barrel won't burn a hole in my coat.  I drink my shot, then pick up the fat man's and walk it over to the dame. She looks like she could use it.  Now that I look at her, she kinda reminds me of Sally, only with blonde hair.  In any event, I slide the glass across the table, tip my hat, and leave.