Dajil fidgeted in the back of the taxi, the heat today making him as uncomfortable as it always did. The taxi of course had no air conditioning and the old driver was blaring out some old world music, some Hindustani classical that only served to sour his mood as they approached the train station where he would meet his accomplices. As the old man pulled up Dajil gazed out into the crowds of people that were pouring in and out of the old building and sighed again. Heat and crowds, two things you could be sure of in Mumbai. He slipped on a pair of dark aviator sunglasses, adding to his ensemble as he was dressed in stylish clothes and if it weren't for his dark complexion and features he could have even been mistaken for a tourist. 

He handed the old man 80 rupees and ignored him as he mumbled something, stepping out into the heat of the day and immediately making his way into the crowded station. He headed directly towards the back room that had been selected for their rendezvous with a quick glance around, always on the lookout for loitering goons. Seeing nothing but the usual crowds of people going about their day to day business he slipped into the room and prepared to meet his partners. 

The room itself was relatively bare and run down, but he was much more interested in the man who was already sat there polishing a large handgun and counting through his magazines. Closing the door behind him Dajil took a brief moment to take in his appearance, he was older and wearing some burgundy polo shirt. He had the look about him of someone who had been given a rough deal, or so Dajil thought, and he looked almost stereotypically Indian. 

"Dajil" he said flatly, introducing himself to this stranger. He moved across the room quickly and took a seat opposite the man, but not before reaching into his waist and pulling out his own weapon.  "Desert Eagle?" he asked with a smirk admiring the weapon before gesturing to his own. " Glock 17" he began "obviously not as powerful as yours, but much easier to obtain the ammunition and has an automatic fire feature that is quite impressive".

Dajil  was half bragging, showing his knowledge of firearms and half trying to get to know if this man was going to be an asset or not. He had been warned that some of the others may be a little wetter behind the ears than he was, and with them going up against the Indian mafia and Mister Dhananjay, a wealthy druglord who ran a Pathan gang, membererd by pashtuns that had immigrated from the Kunar in Afganistan. Both had fairly brutal reputations and were not to be messed with lightly.