[It's not the cigarette that gets her the odd look as he puts the bottle back tosses the bag over his shoulder like a giant alcoholic purse. He's used to it, can't even be bothered to wrinkle his nose. Unlike other people, she could blow smoke right in his face and he wouldn't be too bothered.]

Nobody in that house— [A tilt of his head.] —gets anyone crawling up their ass because they killed people. We don't do that. Maybe consider it a golden rule.

[Good enough?]