"It's none of your business." The word themselves were blunt, harsh even. But his tone made it sound like he was answering a trivia question that was more than easy. He even smiled a little. Affable and unflappable. He wasn't going to let go of that power.

"If you'd rather get an escort out, I'm happy to call the local cops."

The man sniffs and looks over Willa again, clearly deciding how far he wanted to take this. Raylan just tilts his head, expectantly.

"Hey," he says, snapping a few times until the guy's eyes swung back to him. Raylan lifts his eyebrows slightly in question. "How do you want this to go down? Because I promise it'll end with you bein' booked at the courthouse."

The guy considers it, considers it some more like taking up the silence that the Marshal so easily sat in, before draining his glass, aggressively not breaking eye contact with Raylan as his throat works and works to swallow it all. When he was done, he smacks his lips with a satisfied sigh and slams the glass back down on the bar top.

"Guess I'll come back at four then."

"That'd be a wise idea," Raylan drawls, cool as a jello salad, keeping his forced polite smile that fell as soon as the guy started to move away. Willa had spent her whole life with Raylan, no doubt she can pick up on the Ping of Something Dad Don't Like radar.