For the last few minutes, Taylor had been silently composing himself in the back of the room, taking a long sip of the whiskey he had been given and smoking a cigar from a box he had found on the floor. Shit, shit, shit, shit. However hard he tried to leave the outlaw life, even for a night, it somehow always found a way to come back to him.

He now had enough time to observe the other people in the "party". The huge black man definitely had combat experience, and would probably not be afraid to use it on him if he revealed his own history. He wasn't entirely sure what the Boston kid was doing here. The Indian said words that he wasn't familiar with - was he even from the United States at all? He remembered an Indian from Canada that sounded just like him. There was also another person, Sergio, that seemed to be of the same "kind" of person that he was.

He had hoped the job would have paid somewhat more, but hey, money was money. He had only one thing to say:

"Alright, but-" He pointed to Finney. "What's the kid doing here? Are you gonna pay him too? Feller looks like he needs to avoid stiff breezes."