"Murder." Charlie didn't flinch, didn't break his concentration setting up the smack. "Tom Seabolt and his family. Those kids called me Uncle Charlie. Tom was my partner, in the bar. We owned a bar, together. He was a good man." Charlie looked up, and sighed. He didn't bother to reiterate that he hadn't killed Tom, he assumed this guy was smart enough to figure that out, or he didn't care. Charlie wasn't terribly concerned. In a few minutes, they'd likely both be too blitzed to care about that, or anything else.
"I read about that, the port keys. Crazy shit. But it really works? I bet it's trippy as fuck when you're high."