Well, that's one way to earn a spit take. Damn near chokes on his whiskey after that. He has to sit up straight and slowly wipe his mouth off with his hand while his brain does a quick replay.

"I'm sorry, what?" Come on, man. "What's it gonna take to get you to stay away from that son of a bitch? Do you want money? My firstborn child? Seriously, what?"

He's gonna kill you for real sometime. One of these visits ain't gonna end well, and that's one I told you so he's not gonna enjoy.

A beat later the impulse outburst fizzles, and he's back on track enough that it occurs to him to ask, "More importantly, why?"