Dalton wanders in to a local wine bar in New York's Greenwich Village. The sound of Dido is playing in the background--if there's one thing that Dalton can't stand more than people who are too stupid to have a good time, it's Dido. Infernal sultry-voiced Dido.
The wine bar had a cutesy name--"Quit Yer Wining"--and it was clearly appealing to the lower end of the wine bar crowd. Terrific, he thought. But he wasn't here to sample a fine Bordeaux. Dalton didn't care for wine at all.
Standing at the door was none other than Dalton's old protege from his days in Memphis--yes, the town where he removed a man's throat with his bare hands in some fight over a lady. His protege was Reuben "Night Train" Parnell, a bouncer who had become legendary in his own right. Night Train had become very high demand indeed.
"See your ID," the bouncer said as Dalton tried to stride past him. Dalton looked at him squarely.
"Forget your old friends?" he asked, grinning. Reuben's face lit up with recognition.
"Dalton!" he exclaimed, "I thought you'd be taller."
Dalton never got tired of hearing that.
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