Austin stops at the door, nothing the presence of the new arrival. Immediately, something inside of screams that this guy Isn't Quite Right. He's dressed like a biker, but not flying colors.
Austin isn't sure if he's with the Angels or some other group. He /is/ sure that this guy is drinking his vodka and that his gun is near him.
"Only if you ain't used to it. I ain't been feelin' well lately, though." he says, with Southern drawl that's clearly Texan if Nick is familiar with such things.
"Ain't met too many hitmen willin' to talk it over before they get to the good part. I'm not about to offer you money or try to appeal to whatever conscience you might or might not have." Austin says.
"But I ain't gonna make it easy on you."
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