Vasquez's own anger startles him, and it stands out on Faraday's face for a moment – in the widening of his eyes, in the way his lips part, in the way he sits straighter. Vasquez snarls right back, and Faraday feels himself bristling, feels his own defensiveness feeding into the anger already writhing in his gut.

"That's not what I meant," Faraday bites back. "I don't give a damn who or what you killed or why you did it." God knows Faraday's left a trail of bodies behind him, same as anyone in Sam's assemblage of misfits. He's put down men like rabid dogs when they didn't know when to leave well enough alone, and some of those men probably didn't deserve the bullet between the eyes that Faraday gave them.

"What I'm sayin' is—" what the hell was Faraday trying to say? He lets out a frustrated noise, scrubbing at his face. "What I'm sayin' is, you need an extra set of eyes for the stupid sons of bitches who wanna try their luck, gettin' that money."

He makes that same aggravated noise again, shaking his head sharply. "But apparently, I'm too goddamn slow for you to offer up my services. Who the hell am I, but some washed-up gunslinger, huh? Some stupid half-corned bastard that you'd need to watch after like some mother after a newborn child. That's how you see me, ain't it?"