Domitri Cheskavour sat and sipped at his vintage whiskey, whilst his female servants massaged his feet. He flicked through the channels on his plasma TV, hardly satisfied with what he was viewing, cursing at the numerous channels that he viewed as unworthy.
Two knocks came from the door, as a large man peered through. Domitri looked his way and exclaimed "Ah, Petric! I was starting to get bored! Come in, come in." He raised his hand and said "Enough," signalling the massagers to stop, he pulled himself out of his brown leather recliner and chucked the TV remote onto the seat.
"Domitri, he is getting impatient. He wants to see you now," the man said crossing his arms.
"Yes, yes, yes, in a minute, soon, later." He said sculling the last mouth full of whiskey before coughing in his bad health. He walked back to his lounge.
"Sir, you have to see him."
"What is this, you're calling the shots now? I'm sick and tired. Tell him to come back later." He said sitting back in the lounge before another man walked in with a briefcase in hand. Domitri looked at the man and sighed, "Okay, okay. What is it you have to offer me Mr...?"
"We already arranged this, you supply the heads, we provide the goods." Domitri, sat up and looked at him, "What are you offering?"
The man placed his briefcase on a table and removed a file, then placed it on Domitri's lap. He paused for a second as he examined the file. Then put it aside and got up. He turned to his girls and signalled to leave, then walked to a chest and removed a cigar. "In some Russian cultures, to smoke a cigar is infidelity if in the mouth of one undeserving, but to smoke one in other countries is classified as a privilege. Cigar?" Domitri said reaching his hand out to the American.
The man looked cautious, before reaching out and taking the cigar. Domitri placed one in his mouth also then searched his body for a lighter. "Lighter, lighter." He whispered through his teeth. He went to the cabinet and reached in, pulled out and item then turned around to the American with a Luger in hand. The American pulled the cigar from his mouth and looked at Domitri's bodyguard, who then, providing a hint, nudged himself in front of the door.
"But, I am Russian." He cocked the Lugar, then expectedly the American jumped for the door; not gaining any distance the Lugar coughed in Domitri's hand. The American's body slumped into the door, and rolled onto the floor.
Domitri placed the Lugar back in the cabinet and poured another whiskey, "Inform them that we don't need more weapons or explosives, we can supply our own, if they want heads, I want something worthy in return." He said sitting once again back in his chair.
"And get him out of here, and send the girls back in on your way out."