"The Brunette it is." Dean said, downing another shot. Tonight was about forgetting, about space from the house and people who knew what he had done--particularly those who had suffered because of it. Alastair had come to send a message to him, and he was likely the only reason the bastard was in the city. He had to forget about that, even if only for a little while.
"Who do you think I should be for her? Local P.D? Homeland Security? FBI? CIA? John Cash?" He normally didn't say 'who' when referring to the story he would use, but tonight he wanted to be anyone BUT himself.