At the end of his bar, loud and cheerful in a way only good booze could make someone, are the Ravagers.
With mean smiles and matching leathers, they never fail to show up asking for drinks and filling the bar with their people. With time he starts to even recognize most of them by sight, knows who to try to chat up and who to not, who's more likely to start a fight.
Laughter echoes through the place as their leader, Yondu Udonta, finishes another one of his stories and throws his arm around Kraglin's shoulders, his trusted second-in-command. An image so common now around here.
He's pretty sure the gang made his bar their spot.
He's also pretty sure they kidnapped the kid they always bring along with them.
The boy himself, who couldn't be older than ten, told him that. Told anyone who'd listen, really, tales of a dark night outside a hospital and threats of cannibalism. The first time they brought him along he protested - a filthy roadside bar was no place for a kid, even if it was his filthy roadside bar - but they never offered Peter any alcohol and one of the members always stayed sober with the boy, babysitting him. So he allowed it.
The kid was a charmer, quick to warm-up to people and always found in someone else's table making friends and telling stories.
When Peter told him about it at first he got worried, considered calling the police even, but just one look is enough to know the kiddo is Yondu's, through and through, no matter how much he denies it.
They don't look alike, oh no - one is a cute and freckled redhead boy from Missouri and the other a hard-ass mohawk-wearing biker with a deep southern accent and a slight lisp, neither having anything that resemble the other.
But he can see it in how they act, in how they look at the other. He can see it in the little tells Peter has that came from the gang leader, and the way Yondu will always get up in seconds if he senses Peter is in trouble.
They're father and son, alright. There's no doubt in that. So he doesn't worry about it.
What he does worry about is the kid's newfound pickpocketing ability.
"Udonta, please, can you tell Peter to stop stealing from the other clients?"
"Now, now, John," the biker answers with a fake diplomatic tone, calling him by the wrong name by the fifth time just today, "whatcha doin' calling my boy a thief? I thought we was friends. Yer breakin' my heart here."
"I think his name is Mikey, boss," Kraglin offers unhelpfully.
No, it isn't.
"Well then, Mac, let's ask the boy if ya insist. Petey!" The boy comes running, his heavy pockets waving around noisily. "Was you thievin' around?"
"You told me to—"
"I didn't ask for specifics, did I, boy? Now ain't the time for excuses. Did you steal from this nice man's clients?"
Peter looks at both of them, before working on his best puppy eyes. "No?"
"See, the boy says he didn't and I trust 'im. You gotta find better sources, Jamey, instead of pointing fingers at one of mine. I won' let it slide next time, ya hear? Be real careful."
"He's clearly lying!" he protests.
"I know, I know. Bit pathetic if ya ask me," Yondu agrees dismissive before turning to Peter again. "Ya really gotta get better at lyin', boy. I won't cover yer ass next time."
The kid rolls his eyes, huffing. "Yeah, whatever."
"Hey, don't give me tha' attitude or I'll think again 'bout not eating ya. I still think yer gonna taste like chicken. Now go get me more money from those idiots' pockets, ya gotta practice." The biker chuckles after the boy leaves again. "Kids, right?"
"You're too soft on him, boss," Kraglin, who's been watching until now, says. "He got caught."
"He's still little enough to not cause us trouble for it, Krags. Cute as a button, that one - ain't nobody gonna give him any trouble, and if they do he can get out of it with them kiddie charm, or we'll step in. Now go make sure the boy does it right."
A sigh. "Sure, boss."
"You know I'm still here right?" he asks, though he's already feeling too tired for all this. "I heard that."
Both Yondu and Kraglin look at him as if they knew but simply didn't care enough, and the leader gives a big filthy smile that's all teeth, his threat clear. "Yeah? And why is tha'?"
"Dontcha got a bar to look after, Jameson?"
He shakes his head in defeat, the fight definitely not worth it, leaving the two alone and going back to his usual spot. When the next patron comes to complain he'll just tell them to feel free to argue with the bikers themselves, because he's out.
From behind the bar he observes as Peter charms another customer to lose her guard around him before slipping her watch into his pockets. Cute as a button indeed, he agrees.
Well, at least they always pay well.
He can ignore the rest.