The crowd is beyond curious now, restless, more unsure by the second. Women huddle. Coats and jackets are being pulled thrown back everywhere across the room, the glint of belt-cinched heaters crackling in young men's eyes.

"I dunno," he whispers to his brother, slamming down a jigger, missing his mouth with half of it.

"Stay cool, kid," says Rob, the brother, flashing two fingers at the barman, who dutifully refills their shots.

The two click glass and throw the hootch back.

"It's not mayhem we're looking at," Rob says, fingering his diamond ring roughly. "It's magic."