"Ya try and reach out to a guy..." Jack shakes his head, standing, and clucks his tongue in mock-disappointment before tossing what's left of their hacked-together medkit. "Fine. Passenger's seat, drunky. Try not to barf on the way."

Jack is... fucked up, but he's also got above average tolerance and way too much experience driving drunk, so the drive isn't long and they get to where they're going in roughly one piece. Rather than fill the silence himself, Jack cranks the radio and lets classic rock do the job. They're both drunk, and bloody, and miserable, and now they're pulling up to the graveyard. Jack leans over and taps the glovebox, pulling the pistol inside into his lap to check that it's loaded.

"Ya know, just in case," he explains as he shuts the door, tucking it into the back of his pants. Then he's gesturing for Tony to lead them. "Take it away, T."