"Good morning to you too, I see the assassins have failed."
Newt calmly sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee. A small smile curled the corners of his lips while doing so, seeing the bald man watching him coldly.
“You mean that commando of amateurs? Oh please,” he sipped the black liquid and reached for newspaper. “I thought you can do better that this. It was ridiculous.”
“My deepest apologies,” Janson sat down at the opposite side of the table, his eyes got this dangerous gleam. “Next time I’ll try harder.”
“Good to hear you’re keen on keeping my life interesting,” Newt turned the page, skimming through the headlines with an unimpressed expression.
“Trust me, what I want to keep is you out of the picture.”
The raw honesty made Newt stop reading, and he looked up, giving Janson another provocative smile.
“Well. Sending Bambi at me was a really bad idea, let me tell you,” he took another sip of his coffee, noting how Janson’s eyes widened comically. “For how pampered he was by you, he sure has some dirty mind on his own.”
“What have you done to him?” Janson hissed, his expression stormy, and Newt chuckled.
“Nothing that bad,” he shrugged as if it was no big deal. “I don’t think you know, but he’s really good at giving head. Repeatedly.”
Janson’s expression turned to stone, his fists suddenly hitting the desk with such force, that all of dishes jumped soundly at it. It made Newt stood up, smile gone, only darkness in his face remained.
“You do that one more time, Janson. One more bloody time. And he’s dead. You understand? Don’t. Underestimate. Me.”
Only silence showed him out.