Crud. There's a possibility he hadn't considered. Shitty as the cops are where he's from, they tend to draw the line at dismemberment, at least. In Marty's case, they tended to draw the line at a slap on the wrist, but to be fair, he hadn't had any serious encounters with one before.

"Where I'm from, cops have to show a badge before they start with the law and order," he retorts, matching that laziness even though he's starting to feel distinctly nervous. Idly, he wonders if he can use his magic to ignite the liquor and turn this bottle into a molotov cocktail-- but maybe that's overkill. Starting a fire in a liquor store is something so stupid even he wouldn't do it.

"May?" he repeats with a snort. To Marty, that 'may' means 'I'm open to a bribe.' Whether or not that's true, well... "Look, it's the end of the world, and I don't know if you've noticed? But there are monsters, like, everywhere. You can't tell me you didn't come in here for a drink, too." Marty, this is not how you try to bribe somebody. "Don't worry, I left the good stuff." Jerking his head in the direction he game from. "Aged scotch and all that shit? All yours."

He holds up his bottle and waggles it slowly. "And it's not like I can really return this, y'know."