Hock’s own personal movements were always of the careful sort; not one to draw unnecessary attention himself, nor give anything away. His eyes moved from the kid to the Asian woman as she slipped off her trench coat, baring more of her body in an attempt to appeal to the more base instincts of a man. Hock wasn’t so easily fooled, having spent far too many years dealing with would-be female assassins, and femme fatales to fall for something so trivial.

He listened carefully to her as she spoke, taking note of the clear confidence in her tone as she did. While the kid might not have exuded experience, she did. She was even careful enough to keep her hands in plain sight at all times, no doubt having learned that very important lesson some time ago in her past. When surrounded by a room of dangerous people, no doubt armed, you made sure to keep your motions in check, lest you end up a fitting doppelganger to that of Swiss cheese. It was a mistake that was made by rookies, and rookies alone.

As she pointed to Hock, he narrowed his eyes out of a feeling self-annoyance. She’d known enough about him to be able to point him out, even though they’d only been in the same room for a few minutes. While Hock had enjoyed his reputation as a cunning, ruthless, and horrifyingly intimidating hitman, he hadn’t necessarily wanted to be known in the circles that involved this woman. That of the CIA, and Governmental circles at least. He’d been careless, and had let far too many people live to tell tales.

He’d remedy that mistake.

Still, as she explained a little more about him to the kid, he did take note that some of her details weren’t all right on point. Hock had worked for the Italian Mob in the past, but to put it the way she had, that part of his life was over. In truth, Hock was still employed by the Ansonetti Family; though, perhaps she was also aware of the souring relationship between Hock, and the younger Ansonettis. In reality, it was only a matter of time before they had a falling out of sorts.

Hock polished off the last of his aged scotch, and set the glass back down onto the conference table carefully. He followed the Asian woman’s gaze as she went to the other woman, identifying her as an ‘Ivy Solomon’. While she’d apparently been aware of her, Hock wasn’t. It wasn’t so much that Hock was oblivious to the criminal world outside of Newark, but rather he preferred to remain willfully ignorant. It lessened the likelihood that he would draw the unwanted attention of other hitmen, and assassins.

As he spotted the sly smile appear on the kid’s face, he found himself amused by the Asian woman’s manipulation. She was good; at least, good enough to appeal to the wanton attention of a wet behind the ear punk. She introduced herself as ‘Alanna Lee-Jameson’, an ex-CIA operative. As she revealed her past a little, it dawned on Hock why she was so aware of him, and the others. It had been her job to.

When she’d finished with her little show, she turned around to re-take her seat, no doubt hoping to have left an impression. For Hock, she impressed upon him her impressive knowledge. She was relatively well informed. For the kid, maybe she’d impressed something else; something more base, and maybe what she’d really been going for. For the other woman, he wasn’t sure. She’d kept mostly quiet, like he had.

Then of course, the kid, decided he’d wanted to take up the encore for Alanna, and demonstrate his own skill set. Hock could imagine the kid practicing his little speech in the mirror each morning, just before setting down for a breakfast of cheerios and orange juice. He made use of some impressive sleight of hand skills, producing a coin from his pocket, then rolled it carefully across the floor, until it slapped with a clatter against a far wall.

Hock couldn’t but help a grin at the move, though he hadn’t fallen for it. After all, you don’t get to be as old as Hock was, in his profession, reacting so blindly to a simple misdirect. Sure, maybe on some simple hired goons, or to his buddies at the comic book store, that was a hell of a little trick. But to Hock, it was just another example of the Kid’s inexperience.

However, that didn’t mean that Hock didn’t find the Kid’s deft of handedness, and surprisingly careful movements impressive. Quite the contrary in fact. As he dropped the smoldering butt of his cigarette into his whiskey class, Hock’s grin turned to a full smirk. No, the kid had potential, at least enough to warrant a modicum of respect from the old hitman. And on top of that, he had the balls to try something as silly as the misdirect, among a room full of experienced killers.

Now relatively certain that he hadn’t been brought into a simple ambush, intended to draw him away from Newark, Hock remembered his contingency. He watched carefully as the three others looked around, and carefully, with no overly sudden movements, he reached into his pocket, and produced a simple cellular flip phone. As he flipped it open, he sent a quick numerical text only to what was seemingly a random number. 

Then without much of a warning he snaps the cellular phone in half at the hinge, and sets it down onto the table next to his whiskey class. He leant back again, looking to their host, waiting to hear an answer to the questions already presented, still not necessarily ready to offer up any of his own yet; though he had plenty of them.