Reno’s had a thing for you since the moment he saw you. He was investigating something at Wall Market, and there you were, the prettiest lounge singer he’d ever laid eyes on. He’s been by a few times per week since then just to see you. The problem is that you refuse to give him even a moment of your day… even when the lounge has almost no other patrons. You’ve got something against Turks. He gets it, a lot of people do.

“I’m different, ya know,” he drawls, propping his chin up with his palm as he addresses you after your performance. “I actually tip you, sweetheart. Least you could do is gimme a smile.”