Two heavy built bodyguards grunted as they shoved a sturdy leather sofa against the concrete wall on the club basement. Perched on a metal bar stool, their boss watched them, the smoke from his cigar clouding his view.

"If ya quit moaning, you could conserve energy and have finished fifteen minutes ago," He grumbled. "Everything has to be just right for this bidding." The gentleman eased off the stool, continuing to lecture the two oblivious henchmen.

"This intel could get rack some serious profit. After all, who doesn't hate Americans right now?" He played with a solid gold ring on his right middle finger. "We got the best in Western terrorism headed our way in a couple hours and you two buffoons are struggling over furniture." He let out a snort, smoke oozing out of his chapped lips.

"Wait till the bidders get here. Then you'll have a really struggle."

One of the bodyguards gave out a short huff as the pair gave one last shove, pressing the sofa in place. "Boss," his Russian accent was thick with exhaustion, "we need to start setting up an escape plan in case of- "

"What do you take me for, eh?" His superior waggled his smoking cigar in the bodyguard's direction. His voice had gone steely. "Your old boss is an idiot huh? We won't need an escape plan because I made sure that nobody, besides who I wanted to know, knew about this exchange. Now finish making this dump presentable and maybe after that you can draft up your stupid 'escape plan'." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and started heading up to ground level. Just as he reached the top stair, there was a loud clatter from below. He briefly turned his head to see his workers kneeling over a flipped over table.

"If either of you break my furniture, I'll shoot you in the stomach and let you bleed out, do ya hear?" He slammed down behind him.