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Summary
Mickey's outburst on the cop car has some unintended consequences.
The only other fully conscious person in the place was a skinny guy with a sad-dog face sitting at the far end of the bar. When he caught Mickey’s glance, the guy nodded jerkily and said, “Hey, Mickey.”
Did he know this fuck? The guy did look sort of familiar. He had long thin hair hanging under his trucker cap, like some kind of trailer park Guns n’ Roses reject. Probably a grease monkey, going by his oil-stained coveralls; worked over at Kowalski’s, maybe. Mickey grunted in a way that could mean “hello” or “fuck you.”
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