Eric Lee sighed as he made himself scarce. The only reason he put up with this little routine of Smith's was because the man owned half the business, having bought it from him while he was going through a particularly lean time. Unfortunately, he hadn't come up with enough scratch since then to buy it back from him, since business was slow these days.

Despite the fact that his family had been in America since the 1860s, and the ironic fact that the Lee surname had actually come from his white father, he was still treated like a foreigner by just about everyone of non-Asian descent he encountered but Smith, and he didn't care for Smith all that much. The reason for that was parading around the front room while some poor sod lapped up every stereotypical "Chinese" behavior that that ham Smith portrayed while the idiot begged for help in finding the A-Team.

His only consolation after Smith's all too frequent visits and entirely welcome departures was the fact that he wouldn't have to pay for his drinks that evening as he regaled his friends at the bar with the tale of the latest dipshit to buy Hannibal's "Chinese" routine.