"The Satan thing doesn't really bother me," he admitted with a shrug, before taking another drag on his cigarette.
"So..." he started, about to ask what Rae-Rae was short for, and then blinked as he realized something. The big old gray cat in his dad's apartment that had taken a real shine (ha!) to him. His name was Azreel, or Azzie for short, and Dan had known instantly that the cat was like him, even as drunk as he'd been. And Rae-Rae helped the dead move on. Like him. Fuck. He knew the name of the angel that did that job. Of course he did. He exhaled smoke through his nostrils, and said what he'd worked out. "You're Azrael."
He rubbed at the still-healing cut across the bridge of his nose, and then tapped the small amount of ash off the tip of his cigarette into the empty beer bottle.