Later on!
Zinda thought this was a good idea. Sure she went out often, but it wasn't often all of the birds, and when it was all of them it tended to be an in someone apartment deal.
Besides these guys didn't seem to be all that bad. She laughed and picked up her beer taking a long swig before continuing. "I'm serious! He was this huge French fella. Big, burly. And his family had owned this vineyard for centuries. His blood was wine. The Hawks had leave time in Lisbon, and we're out at this place and all I hear in is. 'Lady Blackhawk, I've 'eard so very much about zese legs of yours.'" Yes, her fake French accent was horrible. Andre would have killed her.
"So after a few minutes of ridiculous come ons, I say to him. 'Well, you'll have to drink me for it. You win, I'll go somewhere with ya. I win you run down that street out there in nothin', not even skivvies. So we get to drinkin' and before you know it that fella's falling over in his chair and admitting defeat. So we all head outside, he strips, and starts runnin.' Now he gets to the end of the block and keeps on goin.' So we all start chasin' after him, because we've realized that I hadn't quite specified how far down this street he to run."
"Just as we're all catchin' up. This real tall guy, beanpole comes out of this shop to get hit full on by this large naked Frenchman. They both end up on the ground. French fella has passed out and is snoring, and beanpole pulls himself up, and for some reason he's just completely unphased by what just happened. He shrugs his coat off, covers the Frenchman's shame, turns to us and says in this really distinctive voice, 'I hope you all had a plan to get him home." And he takes a couple steps and turns to me and says, 'Evenin' ma'am.' James Stewart. Not lyin.'"