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Once the initial shock of the announcement of Dalton's body wore off, and Sal received her affogato, she soon continued on her trek to work. The entire way there she couldn't shake the idea that someone would want to hurt the guy. Yeah sure he was a sheriff at one point in his life, but he was retired now. No harm coulda been done by him anymore. It didn't make any sense, and the more she thought about it the more Sal was sure she was going to get wrinkles about her brow area.

		[b][i]She could not and would not have that[/i][/b]

The sun should have been setting about the time she walked in through the back doors of The Parlour, however with the overcast of clouds and just general cold weather it seemed a whole lot darker than normal. Other employees were scattered around the building as they prepared for the night. Tonight was theme was focused on CyberCity so a lot of the girls were dressed in iridescence and glitter and sequins. Sal shuttered at the thought of having to potential wear the shit herself.

With her drink still in hand and her bag swung across her chest she made a beeline through the throng of people running around towards the bar top where there stood a large, intimidating male. Tattoos littered his skin like glitter does the dancers here, and though he wore an almost permanent scowl on his face, Sal knew better. Instead of hightailing it the opposite direction she dumped her bag and drink on the bar and leaned in taking a sip.

		[color=900000]"Heya Bell, how's it goin'?"[/color]