Anton didn’t do partnership. Not if he could help it. He didn’t like to curb his methodology, or extend trust, or, Christ, share in the pay. Sure, he could understad the value of it, especially in cases like this -- where the target was skilled and dangerous as he -- but that didn’t mean he had to like it anymore. After all, being in the same person’s presence twenty-four seven could get on anyone’s nervous. But, being the in the same person’s presence twenty-four seven for three fucking weeks in counting was really starting to stir Numbers’ nerves. He took the moments of solitude where he could find them. Smoke breaks, usually.
Tonight, Anton stood outside the hotel, nursing his cigarette, about his tenth of the day. This late in the night, though, he would’ve preferred something a little stronger. A shot. Maybe a quick line. Something to take this fucking edge off. Instead, he got his partner, coming out for a visit. “C’mon, man... Five fuckin’ minutes. Gimme five fuckin’ minutes,” he muttered, smoke billowing out his mouth. He didn’t look Xaiver’s way. “Unless you’re bleeding out or got some real strong booze and you can wait till I’m done. Alright?”
