Cougar bows his head as if the brim of a hat will protect him from her judgment and her gaze. Without the protection of those things, he's left to instead measure his words and translate them in his head. It would be so much easier to do this in Spanish, but he doesn't think he's capable of that right now. "He betrayed us," he says firmly. "He did things that would have gotten us all killed. Got Pooch shot," he growls.

"So he dies, by my bullet."

His bullet in a motorcycle that took out two birds with one stone, but still, if he hadn't had made that shot, Roque would have been the next.