No.

The tavern door bursts open behind you. The man at the corner table doesn't look up, but his hand remains motionless around the worn handle of his knife. The candle flame illuminates the scar across his jaw. "You're late," he says, finally raising his dark eyes to meet yours. "I've been waiting for an hour. Does your boss know you're dawdling, or are you here for something else... something he wouldn't approve of?"