"Par--FUCK!"

The door slamming was not intended as disrespect. It was Parael being Parael, too high to process and thinking Rusty was just there to get him more drugs. Rusty, muttering cusswords, knocked a few more times to no answer from the man, who appeared baked out of his skull. That wasn't precisely unexpected and it wasn't like he could go all Merle Haggard on the man after nearly two decades of doing all the drugs himself.

But he didn't have time to screw around on this. He knew damn well that the door had a real chance of being warded, but he also was in a desperate situation.

He was in the drug business, with people that didn't write checks and he'd had to do collections before. It was never fun, and supernaturals tended to have precautions. He gave the door a good looking over; it was solid wood and a heavy lock, but he'd done this before.

So he raised a booted leg up and gave it a good kick, right under the knob. One hard kick and it buckled some. Two and it started to splinter. Third, aimed slightly higher, kicked the lock mechanism right out.

Surprisingly, it didn't electrocute him, singe him or otherwise do harm. He was expecting that, but he couldn't know that Parael's wards were designed to go after someone that wanted to do the man harm. His intent was the opposite, "YO! PARAEL! WE NEED TO TALK NOW!" he bellowed down the hallway. No sense braving further traps if he didn't have to.