“Didn’t realise you were into self-abuse,” Sparrow said to Al, handing the bottle of vodka to Marina. “But I’ll make sure we get you a nice little quiet subway car allllllll to yourself with a little sign on the door.” He tossed the bottle of tequila in Al’s direction, then spread his hands wide as though imagining a sign. “It’ll say, ‘Donations Accepted Here’, and we’ll put a Playboy bunny right underneath.”
He rolled his head on his shoulders, then put his finger on the bar. “Bones, boys.” It didn’t matter that one of the boys was a girl. Sparrow didn’t care. Marina was one of his, regardless of her reproductive organs. (And okay, yes, he liked the way it rankled her when he called her a boy, when he teased her mercilessly.)
“And then we can get down to the business of Marina’s new assignment. Al, I need you to make me a to do list. Number one, strangling lessons for the teenager. Number two, eyepatch.” He gestured toward the back room. “And number three, both of you are going to help me with before you leave.”
Three being search the back room for canned oranges. And, he guessed, whatever else was useful. Oranges first, though.