Frank & Jessica Jones, "Are you drunk?"
"Are you drunk?"
The dark-haired woman shot him a withering look. "It's a bar. That's the general idea."
Frank arched an eyebrow. "This your work?" he asked, indicating the man lying on the floor, blood oozing from a cut on his forehead and his hands cupped around his genitals.
"I told him not to touch me. He's not a very good listener." She threw back her shot, then waved the empty glass at the bartender. "Another."
The man on the floor moaned pitifully when Frank nudged him with a booted toe. He shrugged and settled himself on the stool next to the woman. "I'm Frank."
She bared her teeth at him in a mockery of a smile. "Go fuck yourself, Frank."
He chuckled and waved down the bartender. "I heard you were the woman to see about finding someone who doesn't want to be found, Jones."
Her expression turned wary and she looked him up and down. "If your wife ran off, she probably had a good reason. I don't get involved in that shit anymore."
Frank shook his head and pulled a CD from inside his jacket. "Looking for the guy who wrote this program. Money's not an issue," he said, cutting off her objection by sliding an envelope filled with cash alongside the CD case.
Jessica grabbed the envelope and her eyes widened when she looked inside. She shoved it into the pocket of her jacket and raised her glass with a smile. "Well, Frank, looks like you have yourself a private eye."