"Oh," Mike looked like he was having the most childish argument in the world with a five year old, throwing a hand up as he talks and glancing over to shift his hand to the bottle, "I'm sorry--you just said you saw Whistler. Before you just said he texted you, so which one is it, Petros? You have me really confused." A beat. Mike undoes the cork and takes a small swig. Offers the bottle to Billy as Petros begins to stammer his excuse.

Mike, opening a closet door, pulls out a thin towel.

"Not sure that's good enough. Just want to know where you last saw Whistler and what your boss told you. I know he told you something or you wouldn't be so jumpy, now, would you?" Mike places the bat on the other's cheek, patting it before lining it up for a new shot, it seemed.