The crusty old man cracked the door to peer out, throwing them a suspicious glare.
Sam nudged Dean. "I told the last one."
Dean shrugged, looking to the man. "We gotta burn your hairpiece."
"It's real."
"Look, Donald. We got two more Trumps to get to before midnight…" Dean shoved his boot in the doorway to stop the door from closing. "I'll buy it."
"It was $250."
"Seriously?" Dean gave a critical look to the thing on the guy's head. "Dude, you got ripped off."
"Get lost."
"Okay, but the lady whose hair you're wearing – she's dead and she's pissed."