Gus wandered into the White Rabbit Tea Shop, looking for the rumored suspect — Kanta. Before approaching the figure, however, the private investigator ordered himself a black coffee. "I wasn't able to identify my grandmother's body in the morgue," Gus soon admitted, trading his own intel as payment for this conversation. "She was too decomposed. But I hear you've managed to make a body disappear yourself. The investor. The rumors. The clean up. How much of it is true?"
The crescent-moon curve of his grin takes on a decidedly predatory tone, razor edge warning to tread lightly here. Wouldn’t want to make a scene would we? The shop’s proprietor is notorious for being an ill-tempered thing these months.
“Have you now? Interesting the kind of talk that comes out when people are bored or paranoid. And here I thought you were smart enough to know how to play after all this time. Pity.”
Supposedly, he could be nice and give over easy this once—the payment does fall within the required parameters, but it isn’t much to cut his teeth on. Besides, it’s not in his nature not to toy with his food.
“Percentage-wise, I would say 14%, maybe 14.5% if you want to get really technical with the details, but no one cares enough for that kind of effort. Or would you prefer fractions? Don’t look at me like that, I’m only giving you what you’ve asked for. Really Gus, I’m a little disappointed you didn’t think this through more.”
