"Jameson's good," he said, glancing down to the card. "But I much prefer the chance to put my boot on the back of some dumb fucker's neck." Nodding, he slipped the card into one deep pocket, looking back up to her. "I'll take the trade-off. That benefits both our careers, not just my future alcoholism."
He leaned back into the truck, handing his shotgun up to another team member. "Gimme a pen." After briefly fishing through his own deep pockets, his co-worker obeyed.
Samuel turned back to the girl - Toli Ortrun, he reminded himself - with pen in hand. "No card," he said. "This'll have to do." He motioned for her arm, taking it in one calloused hand without waiting for a reply. Samuel Wolfe, he wrote, scratching out his number beneath it. "Now that's for business use only," he teased. "So try to contain yourself."