"What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this display of idiocy?" Jerrard wondered aloud, not really caring about the answer. He looked over his shoulder and addressed the bartender. "Call the police and have this... lady... escorted out, please, James."

He leaned back against the bar, settling himself more comfortably on the stool and examining her from head to toe with a critical, unimpressed expression. In French, he continued. "You have the manners of a colicky infant coupled with the impulse control of a mangy alley cat. As if I'd cater to your childish tantrum? If you had even an iota of pride, you'd shut your gutter trash mouth and walk out of here."

A look of pity mingled with disgust appeared on his face and he shook his head slowly. "I know you won't, of course. That would require too much sense."