So they were getting introduced to the Tangayi bratva. Or a ragtag bunch of idiots with guns made from boiler plates and hose clamps, they’d see in a few minutes. “How do we tell your friend’s people from the other side? Probably won’t be as easy as red and blue bandanas.” Yekaterina wanted to know at the mention of being ready to fight the other side. On the plus side, if their temporary new boss was dealing with guns, they needed a supplier. Unless they were actually trying to be the next Khyber Pass. Probably wouldn’t be their target directly, but you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, right? And if most of the guns in the country came from the Hyena, then these people were either connected to his - or their - lackeys, most likely as local distributors, or they were competition. Maybe they know people, who know people, who know the man, the myth, the legend himself. Maybe they hated his guts and had some dirt to share. Either way, there could be some sort of thread to pull. They just had to be careful about it. She liked her kneecaps intact and all fingers attached.

The other guy’s description, on the other hand, painted a clear picture of the type of person - and thus an entire organization to a certain extent - the removal of which she signed up for the army in the first place. Forget the loony bin, straight into the trash. A certified piece of human garbage even the team’s Welsh moral compass wouldn’t have to feel sorry for. Yes, there was usually a difference between the group and individual members, but the way she saw it, they either worked for someone like this because they wanted to and shooting that was public service, or they had nothing else left to do in life and then one might consider it a fucked up form of mercy. But an arsehole was hard to tell from a person through one’s sights anyway.

Unlike Sean, she was going to ask questions. She expected maybe half would be answered at most, and she was going to ask the same things to Bowaylo anyway, but strike the iron while it’s hot. “Anything we should know about the slum or Bowaylo? Such as what is her turf and what is bandit country?” She went to reach for the map, mouthing a quiet curse as she remembered the map was in her rig in the trunk, “How well equipped and organized are Malkia’s thugs? Are we looking at a one and done type of deal or long-term help? And has your friend indicated to you what she wants? Must have, at least a hint, since you decided to bring us and not an accountant, a cook and two janitors. What is it? Another kidnapping, removing undesirables, scaring people into submission or just ‘Go there and do as much damage to the wannabe vampire as you can.’?” She rapid-fired some more questions, trying to conceal that her patience with Victor’s corporate way of talking a lot but saying very little beginning to wear thin.