"Hi, Lance, I'm Bill."
Bill wanted to create a casual atmosphere, because what was to come wasn't easy to broach, so his tone was very cheerful, lacking the gravitas and imposing presence of a gang boss.
Instead, it was more fitting of his former job, a pimp.
"Hi, Bill, I've heard of you, if you're the one I've heard about."
"Yes, that's me, the Red Dog Gang."
Bill's tone wasn't aggressive, and it could even seem a bit soft.
Heller's death had softened many people's attitudes towards Lance and the Lance family; they no longer treated Lance and his crew like the Street Family but as a gang of equal standing.
After all, Heller had personally proved this point at the cost of his life.
Lance opened the rosewood cigarette case, took out a cigarette, and flicked a tabletop lighter on the desk with his fingers.
It was a desktop lighter in the shape of a Federation soldier in a kneeling position, ready to shoot, with two native bodies lying beside him.
