"You know about that?" Hagar's brows crept up. It wasn't surprising; she hadn't tried to be surreptitious and making nice with strangers was by and large in her job description. But the way Lot brought it up almost made her feel like he was insinuating something.
Lot wouldn't be the first to doubt her word by virtue of her trade. It stung and Hagar wondered if the same easy blame would've been heaped on Mustang. Likely not, she mused, Mustang takes care of business herself.
Hagar pinned a hand against the bar. "I may have learned how to say 'ain't' but I'm not so Southern I'd ever involve my daughter, whatever my relationship with a client." If it was a pimp's heavy hand she needed, she would've gone to Niro for help. Their leader purportedly had a finer touch; he could converse with more than his fists. "If you don't want to get involved, say so. I'll borrow Mustang's heels and make myself understood some other way." A forced, wan smile playing across Hagar's lips. "I know how you hate it when we turn down paying customers." Just now, for instance, he'd looked positively forlorn at the sight of Mouse scrabbling to safety with his pride in tatters.