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"So people say the taste of brandy is the closest thing to the taste of fresh blood. What do you think, Mr. Brown?"
The man raised his glass, swirling the liquor with theatrical flair, sniffing it with exaggerated appreciation.
Henry ignored the pretentious display.
He lifted the glass and drank the XO cognac in one gulp—a brandy aged at least six years.
"I've never tasted blood," Henry said calmly. "So I can't compare."
"But I'm pretty sure whoever said that must've been a Froggy."
"Because if a Rashka said it, brandy would suddenly beco vodka."
"Froggy" was an Arican slur referring to the French—who were stereotypically mocked for eating frogs.
"Rashka" was a mocking Arican-Russian hybrid pronunciation referring to Russians.
The joke amused the man across from him.
"Hahaha, quite right."
He picked up the bottle and poured Henry another glass.
"My na is Gitano Dragoneiti. A pleasure."
Henry stood and extended his hand.
"Henry Brown. The pleasure is mine, Mr. Dragoneiti."
By standing, Henry subtly increased the physical distance between them again.
When people weren't familiar with each other, overly intimate gestures often signaled hidden motives.
As the saying went:
> Excessive courtesy often hides ulterior intentions.
Dragoneiti didn't seem offended by Henry's caution.
He stood, shook Henry's hand politely, and gestured for him to sit again.
"Mr. Brown has accomplished quite a few things quietly lately," Dragoneiti said.
"Promoting digital cinema technology.
The Sony building explosion in Los Angeles."
"You walked away with the benefits while escaping the trouble unscathed."
"Anyone watching would have to applaud."
Henry chuckled lightly.
"That explosion had nothing to do with ."
"Maybe Sony just couldn't agree with a thief about commission fees and soone blew the building up."
"After all, I'm the victim whose property was stolen."
The usual social dance.
Say everything politely.
Reveal nothing.
Even if everyone suspected him.
Dragoneiti didn't challenge the denial.
Instead, he casually added:
"Did you know Mickey Schulhof was extrely unhappy with you?"
"He tried to approach the Continental Hotel to place a bounty."
"Fortunately the bounty never passed approval. Otherwise you'd be facing endless assassination attempts."
The implication was obvious.
He was hinting that Henry's safety existed thanks to his intervention.
If Henry didn't know how the Continental worked, he might have believed the claim.
Henry smiled.
"With Schulhof's personality—lavish and obsessed with appearances—he probably couldn't bear to pay the bounty."
"Maybe it was just a performance to show he was angry."
At the Continental, placing a bounty didn't require gold coins.
But the minimum price was $100,000.
And if the target was particularly dangerous or influential?
A low bounty would simply be rejected.
Henry's case qualified easily.
A bulletproof mutant wasn't exactly an easy target.
Realistically, the bounty would need to start at one million dollars.
Most gunn couldn't deal with soone like that.
It would require specialists—or elaborate poisoning sches.
The difficulty rose exponentially.
If the reward was too small, no one would bother.
And the Continental demanded full paynt in advance.
No killing first and collecting later.
So if the employer couldn't afford the bounty, the offer simply wouldn't be accepted.
Dragoneiti wasn't surprised by Henry's response.
Henry had once worked within the Continental's orbit.
Knowing those details wasn't unusual.
Still, even if the "life-saving favor" didn't work, revealing the information was still a smaller favor.
Dragoneiti smiled.
"Mr. Brown truly matches Ms. Fisher's description."
"Cunning. Clever."
"Those who thought you were rely a bookish nerd paid a heavy price."
ntioning Munni Fisher—Henry's forr superior—was another attempt to assert dominance.
But Munni herself had failed to control Henry.
Why would so stranger succeed now?
Henry smoothly shifted the conversation.
"Compared to my small affairs, shouldn't world affairs be more interesting?"
"The Red Empire has collapsed.
Japan's economic bubble burst.
Europe is integrating."
"Right now the United States has no real rival."
"That's not good."
"My boss and his fellow rchants of death can't sell weapons without enemies."
"If they can't sell weapons, they don't have money to spend."
"And if they don't spend money, the Arican economy slows."
"So the urgent question is: who should be our next enemy?"
"So say Afghanistan.
Others say Iran.
So say Saddam Hussein."
"What do you think, Mr. Dragoneiti?"
Dragoneiti raised his glass calmly.
"Anyone will do."
"None of them can defeat the U.S. military anyway."
But he still tried to steer the conversation back to his real objective.
"What about Tony Stark?"
"What has your employer been doing lately?"
Henry shrugged.
"Probably in bed with so minor actress or model."
"If you want that information, you'd get better results calling New York paparazzi."
"He doesn't exactly report his schedule to ."
Dragoneiti leaned forward slightly.
"What if we asked you to deliver an invitation?"
"Arrange a eting between us and Tony Stark."
Henry spread his hands helplessly.
"Of course I can deliver the invitation."
"But I've already said—I'm not his parents, and I'm not his guardian."
"That man does whatever he wants."
"You rember one of his recent scandals?"
"At a charity dinner hosted by Stark Industries, President Bill Clinton and First Lady Hillary Clinton attended in person."
"Vice President Obadiah Stane told everyone Tony Stark was ill and recovering."
"And the very sa night—photos appeared in newspapers showing Stark partying sowhere else with two won draped over him."
Dragoneiti said calmly:
"Wasn't that Stark expressing dissatisfaction with the Democratic administration's military cuts?"
Henry shrugged.
"Who knows?"
"Maybe he just wanted to sleep with those won."
"So tell —"
"If I invite him, and he casually agrees…"
"What are the chances he doesn't show up at all?"
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