“What old man? Oh. My old man?” Malcolm glances over his shoulder where Martin lingers, a predatory smile on his face. “Listen, if you two want to play a few rounds of psycho versus psycho, you just feel free. We’re gonna go now,” he says, gesturing between himself and Neal. “My money’s on the old man, though. Do what you do best, Dr Whitly,” he throws over his shoulder, keeping half a wary eye on the women.