Joe glowered at him, even as he accepted the medication. "I make my own way, Soligen. I don't even know what you're talking about."
"That's obvious," the other said sourly. He waited, sipping his brew, while the Sober-Up worked its miracle. He was compassionate enough to shudder, having been through, in his time, the speeding up of a hangover so that full agony was compressed into mere minutes rather than dispensed over a period of hours.
Joe groaned, "It better be good, whatever you want to say."
Freddy Soligen asked, at long last, tilting his head to one side and taking Joe in critically. "You know one of the big reasons you're only a major?"
Joe Mauser looked at him.
The Telly reporter said, "You haven't got any mustache."
Joe Mauser stared at him.
The other laughed cynically. "You think I'm drivel-happy, eh? Well, maybe a long scar down the cheek would do even better. Or, possibly, you ought to wear a monocle, even in action."
Joe continued to stare, as though the little man had gone completely around the bend.
Freddy Soligen had made his first impression. He finished the ale, put the glass into the chute and turned back to the professional mercenary. His voice was flat now, all expression gone from his face. "All right," he said. "Now listen to my fling. You've got a lot to learn."