This room is rust-colored with splotches of lurid paint here and there, there is an old writing desk full of cobwebs in the corner and along a badly constructed wood shelf there are glass jars full of unknown solutions and there is a smell of gasoline, there are cedar chips and sawdust on the cold, cement floor.
My business partner or rather, human attack dog is an aged man of 40 winters or so, he has a long and ugly pinkish scar directly across his face that has almost split his nose in half like a weird road through the mountains, his skin is a complex olive color, jet black hair like an Aztec, and I believe he's Mexican or Guatemalan, he isn't much for talking, as most hitmen are the silent types, and this one seems serious.
The job went bad and that's why he's here and that's why I am stuck in limbo, waiting, because when it hits the fan, there are graves to dig, a process to unfold and the Dollmaker assures the Boss it's all under control, they send muscle, regardless, and this gentleman looks like he has hard bark on him, I believe there is another one outside guarding the car, the surgeons are removing the problems in the other chamber, and I mostly sit in boredom, I can't play on the phone too much or leave this building yet, so it's watching this leafy paradise through a small, dirty window while this assassin stares blankly at the door.
I politely asked him if he'd like to watch them dismember the bodies, and he just sat there silently looking at his favorite door, he may not even speak English or was told to not speak to me, either way, I am about to blow vape smoke in his face, just to see if he gets mad.