"Testing," Jesse repeats incredulously, almost a question. He follows up with some pretty heavy sarcasm, "Tryin' to find a stud or somethin'?" Of course, then Dirk gets plaster all over the counter, and Jesse raises an indignant hand, a small 'tch' of disapproval escaping from his mouth.

He really can't talk. This is the guy who initially tried to get into this locked house by kicking in the door.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. This guy was just gonna move himself in? It was kind of the nature of the beast - people, after all, needed places to stay - but color him wary about a whole new person barging in on his (well, 'his') property and settling down. The card doesn't seem to do much to placate him either, though he does take it, reads it a few times over. "There ain't really a system to it," he replies a little distractedly. "People just kinda gotta bunk down where they can."

But that's not what he's most concerned with right now; it's suddenly the card that's making him question this newfound guest. Detective, huh? Years of dealing, manufacturing, and pretty steady drug use don't get him any less jittery around police types, even if it's just a private investigator sort of deal. "This like a private kinda place? Cuz you ain't no cop. Ya ain't the type."