There was a brief moment of distinct dangerousness that flashed in Drake’s blue eyes. It was only there for a moment, but it left the impression that he wasn’t one who took betrayals lightly. “Garin Fohrik...” he muttered quietly, a menacing edge seeping into his voice, “I haven’t met that man in a while... but I’ll find him.” Drake leaned back on his stool to stretch his back, revealing the blasters at his hip. Booker had heard dangerous things about the man’s draw, especially with that prosthetic hand of his. But when he raised his hand, it was merely to fix the hair that hung about his forehead. “Again, thanks for the head’s up Captain,” he said as he stood up, “if you ever need anything, I owe you one.” Drake looked over across the bar, and gestured for his companion to get up and leave. The imposing figure put some credits on the bar, and left. “Now if that’s all you’ve got to say, I’ll leave you to it now.”