Two years ago you were a cop, but your mate set you up, and you were on the verge of jail. You are now a bartender at a local pub and you hate all the cops. You can smell them from a mile away.

“Fours Roses,” a condescending voice that you acknowledge from a thousand voices came from behind you through the soft music and conversations in the bar. “With ice.”

You almost dropped the bottle and turned around. The very scum that set up you — Alejandro — stood in front of you.