Chris is a big guy, with an appetite to match. You swing by a Whyaburger on your way back from the campus, and you stopped to eat in the parking lot. You were noshy, at best, and settled for some fries, but Chris ordered himself a fulll-blown combo meal. Bill took one of your fries, and moaned about the grease for the better part of five minutes. Such is her way.
After you get halfway through the carton, you break the silence.
"So I'm thinkin' it's that old plaza. Ya know, that one with the four balls on the roof."
Chris nods, and speaks through a mouth of half-masticated pseudoburger.
"Yep. Sounds like a place to start."
"So we, uh...what's the term...'blazing up' on that place?"
Chris laughs at that, and sprays a few crumbs over his arm.
"No, no. Man, did you see what those guys had goin' for em? I been in places like this...deals, I mean. We ain't got shit. You go to, like, an auction house or something, you gotta have product, and you gotta have heat. We can get...product, easy enough. But...you ever shot a gun, man?"
You nod. You'd been down to the range here and there—so had everyone in this part of the world.
"I know some guys, good people. I can get them to set us up with something while we work on the other seven names. You know, some real tried-and-true pieces, just in case someone ever pulls on you."
You take another two fries, and answer with a question.
"Who the fuck do you roll with, man?"
He shrugs modestly and scarfs down another great bite.
"Mmmph. Nobody much, they just know people. Good guys, ya know? Real loyal and stuff. Maybe a little on the rough side, but they good."
"Pretty much, yeah."