Rude sighed audibly, shoulders sagging. Scratching briefly at the corner of his eye, the Turk opened his arms slightly in a gesture of peace. "Naa, look Gramps, me an' aibou here don't want any trouble." ...well he didn't, at any rate. Reno was a whole other story. "We just wanna use onna them journal-things to get ahold a' Boss and the President."

He reluctantly withdrew the slim black journal from his suit pocket with two fingers, tipping it so that a fat bead of water escaped from the still-wet insides, running to the corner before dripping onto the ground. "Ours kinda had a ... a lil' accident." Luckily for him the tired glare he cast in Reno's direction was hidden. The question that had been needling his mind escaped, as he idly shook a few more droplets of water off of his defunct journal. "You don't happen t' know what went on out there, eh?" Rude jerked his head out the door. Sure he was an old coot, but what he presumed was the owner of the shop didn't look that senile. ... Then again, he'd been wrong before.