Stattick smoked his stogie, anxiously waiting for someone to say something... He stared down into his drink, and swirled it around, the little ice cubes clinking against the side of the glass.
"I... can't believe we got the wrong dame," he muttered. Well, at least he wouldn't have the spectre of having that one's rejection hanging over his head any longer.
He then looked over at Kaz... "Honestly, I don't know if you're one of the boot leggers or not. But I can't forgive or forget. Never been able to... So you get my next vote. 'Sides, you been strutten around like you know something. So I think that this time, I'm fingering the right goon."
Stattick glances around the room, wondering if they're gonna get him next, like they did when Marguerite spoke first last time. Wether they do or not, they can surely see that he has a legitimate beef with that one, right? Afterall, before Stattick was even in the room, Kaz had him fingered for no reason. That just can't stand. Stattick quickly quaffs the rest of his drink, and signals the bartender to come over for a refill.