Ah, that’s much better. Isn’t it lovely how a dash of technology can save my hearing, heist‑honey? And please—don’t bother trying to charm me. Machete already gave it a whirl and is now enjoying a blissful bout of radio silence.
So—Magellan, you say? Five million credits is perfectly acceptable. I’ll reroute a convoy; expect it to drop by sooner rather than later, pick‑precious. Try not to disappoint me.
Ah, you sweet talker! You're trying to get on my good side with all those compliments! You shouldn't... Or maybe... Who knows? I don't know of this "Mâchéte" you're talking about. If he were someone of importance, I'd do business with him.
Now, back to business. We have the credits waiting for your men, the food and the party. Expect them happy and delayed. That Iridium will be put to good use! Cheers.
Well, burgle‑cup, our convoy managed to find its way to your—what shall we call it?—slum-chic hideout. They dropped off the iridium and scooped up the payment. I was expecting a tidy wire transfer, not a beat-up suitcase stuffed with 100-credit chips, but I suppose it’ll do.
Pleasure doing business. Next time, ditch the bargain-bin “Series-Z gangster” routine; it clashes with your décor.
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