"Your heart never bled anything but vouchers," snapped Dusty. He fumbled in his hip pocket and pulled out a flask.
Gramer did not say a word.
"Well, aren't you going to give me an argument?" demanded Dusty.
"No. You can't be seen."
"But someone's likely to smell bourbon on my breath."
"No one that counts. And by the time we get back—"
Dusty stopped raising the flask in midair. "Get back—?" he roared. "Get back. Look, Gramer—"
"Sit down, Dusty. Take it easy."
"Gramer, what goes on here? You're not suggesting that we take off in this fire-breathing hot water boiler, are you?"
"You've read all the advertisements."