lf there's money in it.
well, i might at that. but i thought i'd ask you first, seeing as how i'm not quite a native american myself.
fine. but if you like what you see, pay me double. monk turns to the door with the grace of a dancer and delivers a shattering kick, sending it flying off its hinges. clear white light streams in, and we see monk eastman plain for the first time: a huge man, in stature and girth, wearing a small derby that intentionally makes his head look even bigger.
that's yours, rightfully. now monk leans over the lifeless body and reaches inside vallon's coat, removing some money.
and this is mine. only what's owed. use the rest for funeral.
how much?
she sing sweet as she looks?
me? oh, i don't know. all that talk of blood loyalty makes me quake. i'll spill blood when the price is right. but blood for ceremony? i prefer holy communion.
not mine. not now, and not any time after.