Sloane raised her hand, like a student waiting to be called on in class. “I think I would like some whiskey now,” she said. “First,” Michael told her seriously, “I need to verify that you have no plans to feed this whiskey to a moose.” “He’s kidding,” Dean said, before Sloane could tell us the exact likelihood of stumbling over a moose in a Las Vegas casino. “And nobody’s drinking any more whiskey.”
