She pulled up a chair, settled herself comfortably close to him. Crossed her legs, showing a goodly expanse of pale thigh. Another Anglo, he couldn’t help but notice. Falcon started to wave for the waiter, but the woman put a surprisingly large hand on his arm. "I’ll get it, honey." And then she whistled between her teeth, painfully loud near his ear. When the waiter looked over, she pointed to the table. The waiter nodded and headed toward the bar. "Sammy knows what I drink," she explained needlessly. I bet he does, Falcon thought.