"Now there’s a theory." She smirked at the sight of the man called John Constantine. Disheveled, ruggedly handsome, but just the right smarmy bastard she had expected. She liked him already. "If the exit door wasn't chained down like it was about to run off with the place."
"Lovely," she remarked and then made it a point to stare at the bartender until he began to move again and thus promptly producing her scotch on the rocks. She left cash and a good tip on the counter for the bewildered man's trouble. At which point, she picked up her drink.
"After you, Constantine." And she said it right. Perfect.