"Good boy," Aidan congratulates him after breaking into a smile, gravity evaporated in the blink of an eye. The payment will be made, or won't be, now that it's done it can't be undone. No reason to fret over what's not gone down yet.
He spins and turns away, addressing the room at large. "Good people, I would like to fail to apologize on behalf of the Chicago Police Department for this uncopacetic stop we put to your evening. We never apologize," he says less loudly, by means of explanation, shaking his head, hands spread, looking very sorry about that. But what can you do? "It's been... unreal," he assures them, then turns to his colleagues. "Come on now, better things to do. Let's go."
Seeing the police officers laden with bottles and crates reminds him, and he turns around and strides back to the bartender. "Nathaniel! I'm sorry, they're taking the booze. Only so much a fella can do. I saved the whiskey," he assures him proudly - it's what matters most. "By the way, it's good stuff. Real Irish, undiluted. Keep up the good work." He claps him on the shoulder, earnestly.