Red_Bird

"You're certainly one to judge, old friend. You're right...arms dealing is certainly less...what's the word...distingué...bon. J'aime un bon massacre...but sometimes l'argent parle..." He said as he ran his free hand against the roughness of his face.Francois hadn't changed much physically since he and Quintus last met. His hazel eyes were the same, only today his skin was a bit darker as though he had been spending some time in the sun. He wore a pair of black Diesel jeans, black boots and a plain white t-shirt. His motorcycle helmet rested on the ground against the chair next to him.

"And that's the case here. The total delivery would bring us in the $30 million range. Split that in two and it leaves you with $15. Euros, not dollars. Russia's trying to start World War III. You know how these politicians are...You used to be one. Bon, the point is that wars are good for struggling economies, and if Syria wants to buy WMD's then you do the math."

Retrieving the 50 year old bottle of aged armagnac Francois poured the liquid into his comrade's glass. "The Russian government needs to make a shipment to Syria next week, the problem is they can't do it themselves. UN sanctions forbid dealings with the Syrian government..." Francois poured refilled his own glass and crossed one leg over the other before continuing, "...So they need a private company, or hired guns to make the delivery. The problem is, it's a complete war zone, no one gets in or out. To get in you have to go through Jordan and Jordanian military check points. And since it's a no-fly zone, you can't just land a black bird in Damascus...You see where I am going with this, oui?" The debonair french assassin leaned to one side against the arm of his chair, awaiting Quintus' response.

Pas mal

Pardonne moi?

Francois's posture hardened as he walked from the table toward Quintus, taking a seat directly opposite him. "I know you don't normally get involved in matters that don't immediately provide an additional source of income, but this one will, eventually. It just might take a little time. How do you feel about the Middle East?" Red Bird swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his gaze moving from it back to Quintus until he made direct eye-contact with the self-proclaimed "King of New York."

"I've never had any problems making it" he looks down at his lap briefly, "...fit." He smirks and sips his own glass. "Good, right? It's from the south of France. Near Provence. You know, Marseille...Anyway...it's been a long time and unfortunately this house-call isn't for fun. I need a favor."

;)

"I bet you had to work extra hard to make up for what you don't have in size" he smirks as he pours him a glass of armagnac and slides it over.

Hands a tissue and slides over "So...got a name?" smirks

F*&^K yourself (cause I took your girl and........her face).