"Brucie?" Deadshot echoed from his place on the couch. The look on his face spoke volumes of his opinion on that choice in nickname. Rather than belabor the point by actually putting it into words, he raised his bottle to his lips again for another long drink.
Shit. He was going to need thirty or forty of these if this was how they were going to be spending the next several hours. Or days. God, he hoped it wasn't days. Floyd could cope with a lot, but watching the clown girl and Wayne make googily eyes at each other was going to make his trigger finger itchy quick.
"Whatever we're getting paid for this job, it ain't enough. Not by half."