“Quessé tu fais icit toé crisse?”
“I was hoping to have a drink,” Dzinski said. “Maybe ask a few questions.”
The barman sneered so hard he snorted. Then he bent down and pulled a bottle of beer from the cooler, and set it on a cardboard coaster.
“Pis mon frère, lui, y’est où?”
“Looked everywhere. All the places you said. A few others. No one’s seen him. Or that pretty little brunette he was running with. Your girl, apparently.”
The barman leaned across, knuckles scarred and knobby from being broken so many times.
“A rien’a faire là-dans elle, câlisse.”