Raylan's eyes travel slowly between Harry and the monster dog, and he nudges his hat back with one thumb to get a better look at the man who blew four people to shit. Seeing him here, apparently at home and waiting for a drink, stirs that particular kind of fury in Raylan that drives cases to a close. Or a fist through someone's face, depending.

"Deputy," he says. "Not officer." Apparently as an afterthought, he adds, "Or marshal. Either one works."

He gestures back to Harry's table. "I do beg your pardon, interrupting, I just had a couple questions I needed answered regarding your potential involvement in a case I've been working. Might I join you?