"You know how we do biz," Raman says quietly, his tone as sharp as the tips
of his claws. One of the claws presses slightly into the ork’s skin, drawing a
trickle of blood. Gunter quivers visibly and turns his head flat to the alley 
wall, baring his throat. "Show me the merchandise," Raman growls. "I pay what
it’s worth."