The Ark and the fighting ring within were hardly Tetradore's only avenues of income. No, the were-King had his hands in all sorts of cookie jars, primarily the acquisition of several cargo ships which still actively tread international waters. He was known within those illegal markets of the bustling metropolis as the man capable of ensuring procured items safely reached the harbor, passing through customs and side stepping international laws. He dealt with guns, drugs, artifacts, bones, paintings, none of it truly mattered to him - not where it was going or why it needed to go through him. As long as it wasn't people, Tetradore's ships had a near spotless record of getting items from port to port with little mishap. Except today. It was unusual for the man himself to be present at any transactions, the were King himself often stepped in only for a particularly high profile client or, as was the case today, with an individual whom his crew warned him was being particularly difficult. That box of ancient human skulls sat beside him as the man leaned against that bright blue Bugatti, the vehicle had recently began to rival his love for the Aventador. Tetradore glanced at his watch with a small frown on his lips. He was exactly on time. His contact, however, was late. He disliked tardiness when he took the effort to be here on time.

It was the sound of wheels against concrete that prompted the man to glance up, even if he hardly moved from his place upon the vehicle. His emerald eyes remained steadfast as he watched the men that stepped out of the car. He was hardly perturbed by their numbers as they moved to stand before him. He waited until the man's contact stepped forward with a suitcase in his hand - a suitcase that should have held his payment. A small frown crossed his features as he eyed the group, his foot moving towards that crate beside him to push open the lid. "It's all here." He stated, "Where's my money?" Tetradore was, as always, entirely straight to the point. He watched as the fellow stepped forward to examine his wears, lifting each one beneath the were-King's watchful eye. It was only once that contact reached the third skull that he glanced up at. "This one is cracked." He stated, pointing to a place upon that skull, his eyes narrowed with clear discontent. "It was like that when you placed it in the crate in Venezuela." Tetradore retorted, entirely trusting his crew and the intel that they had provided him with.

"They were not!" The man cried incredulously, near leaping to his feet. "They were perfect when I gave them to your ruffians! I'm only going to pay to half." Tetradore scowled, reaching up with his foot to firmly close the lid of that crate over those skulls. "That was not the deal." The were-King insisted. "The whole amount or I'm keeping your skulls." Usually, that was enough to prompt those men from whatever ridiculous notions they had that his prices were flexible. Him, however, hardly seemed to quite get the point. "No." The man spoke, stepping back from the were-King and into that group of men he'd brought with him. "I'm only giving you half, it's already in that suitcase." He tossed it at Tetradore's feet and yet, the man understood wholly what was going on here. His contact had never intended to pay the whole price to begin with. "No." He offered as a rebuttal, fully intending to bend down and pick up that crate before the sound of several guns drew his attention upwards. His eyebrows furrowed as he eyed the fellows in front of him, fully intending to retaliate without the slightest realization of the female that crept in the rafters above.