"The fuck..." Ernesto tore off his headphones angrily and spun around in his computer chair. Were these assholes really demanding he open his door at - what the fuck time was it, anyway? Ah, but Ernesto had responsibilities, he knew. As much as it made sense to delegate responsibility and have a chain of command, the nature of criminal enterprise required personal supervision more often than not. If you want shit done right...<br/><br/>He strode across the neat, air-conditioned confines of his office, glad for a chance to stretch, now that he was up. He had been working, and when he was working he didn't trust himself to try to multitask. So he sat, sometimes for a day at a time, filling out spreadsheets and sending e-mails, handling business both public and private. His operations required a very large front; charities, foundations, businesses both online and off. Unlike most illicit businessmen, however, Ernesto didn't just use his public work mask his income. He enjoyed it. He helped people. It just so happened that he made the money to help them in a way that the law refused to recognize as legitimate.<br/><br/>"Okay, okay, I'm coming, Jesus." He peered through the peephole on the steel door, and recognizing the shmucks on the other side, he unlatched it and undid the myriad locks with practiced ease. He didn't re-holster his gun, though. He wasn't careless. ""Awww, who the fuck is this guy?" he asked, now amused and angry at the same time as he examined the prisoner his men had brought him. "And why is he all...is that rope? You tied him up with rope?" he asked incredulously. "Y'know, I actually pay for handcuffs and other fancy shit for you fuckers, but you keep losing it, apparently." His men were about to reply, but he cut them off. "No no, not out in the hallway, Christ. Get him in here. Shut the door. Damn."<br/><br/>He finally put away his weapon, but didn't button the holster. He never fully trusted the career criminals he hired to do his dirty work. He watched as they dragged the unconscious man into the room. "Well, prop him up somewhere. Actually, hey - put him on the couch." They did so. "That's better. Now, before he wakes up, and before I lose my temper - who the fuck is this guy?"