Drake, in fact, did not get the hell off of Garin. If anything, his witheringly powerful metal grip became stronger on Garin's shoulder. "Yes, actually, I [i]do [/i]think you're that goddamn bloody ignorant. You told him that we were planning a hit on his ship! That wasn't fu[i]c[/i]king misinformation, that was literally what we were planning on doing--with the element of surprise, mind you--before you TOLD HIM THAT WE WERE COMING!" Drake loosened his grip on Garin, and roughly tossed him aside, off of the bar's counter. He pointed his prosthetic finger at him accusingly. "Not to mention, dipshit, that we'd told you to speak to the NTR crew in Ollimand, not the person that we're planning to attack. Did you know, by the way, that there's a bounty on your head now? Several, actually. I dunno who broke the news, but outlaws don't appreciate snitches about as much as they dislike the Feds. So, I'll repeat myself, why the [i]hell[/i] did you rat us out?"