Slick pushes himself off the wall. You remember the first time you saw him, slinking up to you much the same way Snowman had on the roof and putting a knife to your throat. You'd been working for some other small-time guy back then, doing wetwork and bringing in cash for someone who truly didn't appreciate your skillset. At least, that's how Slick had put it to you.
Slick's talking to your new friend--something about speakeasies and fenestrated walls--but you're sunk too deep into your pathetic reverie to take any of it in. Also the fact that a guy has just rearranged your face. That might be part of it.
Whatever they're talking about, your old boss doesn't seem too pleased with it. His hand goes for his knife. Fuck, not again, not--
