A small bar in the Sonoran Desert of Mexico.
“I want something local. What's in that unmarked bottle over on the left? I'll have some of that.”
“That? I'm sorry, señor. That booze was made for Joaquin.”
“Certainly he wouldn't get mad if I had just a shot?”
“That's just what he'll do. Then one of these days his boots are gonna walk all over you.”
(cue descending bass notes)