6.3.1: Shanghai Afternoon ((James Wilder))
The tall, handsome fellow with raven-black curls looks like he might to be about to throw a punch at the man answering Trace, but looks over at the newcomer all the same with a slight suspicious frown at the accent. His eyes are a striking emerald green.
"That would be about the only bar left standing at present, save for the coloured place," Maddox says, his Welsh accent unfaded and unmistakeable as a native speaker. "Watch out for the giant preacher...oh, and there'll probably be a fight by there now this minute, just Starkweather and his vendetta against any Whateley he hears tell of, like the bastards would need antagonising."
Despite this being the logical end of the advice, he keeps going, apparently slightly drunk. "-and this town is full of 'American customs', see you, like back-shooting, fire-setting and letting bloody mass-murderers go if they ask nicely or propose a duel-" he rounds on Wilder again. "-you think I'm going to work with you again when you threatened to cut down anyone who 'got in your way', do you? So you can get extra-judicial on me, yes, and grab your willy while you shoot him in the head? Why the raw woolly fuck would I trust you again?"