"All kinds," he confirms evenly on an exhale, no hesitation to be found. "I would show you my business card, but I seem to have left them in my other trousers."

Along with his zippo, cigarettes, and probably a few runes he forgot were in there. All he can really do is shrug.

"Suppose I can at least appreciate that red is my color." The same color as the tie he always wore, slung low. The color of blood. John considers the man next to him a second before speaking up again. "Maybe you'd want to help me with one more thing, unhelpful Vasquez. Have you seen a beehive anywhere in town?"