Phone Call, cont.

    'When you get asked to do a fucking job, you fucking do it properly. Did you forget the fucking rules? You do not make a mess. You do not leave any trace of yourself. And you definitely do not leave any fucking survivors!'
    Ramirez waited for Jack to answer. Jack didn't. As has already been established, Jack was the master of loaded silences.
    'I was reassured that you were the best of the best, that you've never done a half-assed job.' Ramirez said. 'Why the fuck would you start now?'
    'Well, pardner,' Jack began in his thick Texan drawl, 'I see that you're awfully upset, and for that I apologize.' He knew how Ramirez would react.
    'Apologize? You apologize? I'll f-'
    'But we both know apologies don't make no difference in the unique branch of the global business that we are part of. So consider the following: Perhaps I left a survivor for a reason. Perhaps I made him watch the hell-fire I wrought on them other goons. Perhaps I made him listen to their screams. Perhaps he'll bring those screams to his superiors. And won't you know it, perhaps I just handed the entirety of the eastern baronies to you on a shining silver platter.
    Silence.
    'You have a good day now.'
    Jack hung up.