"Again, Nate?" Victor asked, his characteristic cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth.
"What the hell did you want me to do, give it up?" Drake retorted angrily.
"Orange doesn't suit you too well, you know."
Drake looked down at his uniform. Its bright orange sheen was nauseating. "Thanks for the input, Sully, I'll ask for a different color next time."
Sully pulled his cigar out of his mouth and leaned in closer. The glass separating him and Drake was smudged with fingerprints and grease. The veteran adventurer spoke into the prison phone quietly. "I got us another job."
"Yeah, Sully that's exactly what I need, stuck in jail for the second time, another godforsaken job–"
"Look, Drake. You're in no position to complain. The guy I got, he's willing to pay your bail."
Drake reclined in his chair, reluctant and unconvinced. "You do know how I got here, right? Barging into another damn museum, getting caught, I can't do this anymore."
"Relax, Nate. This one's a no-brainer. He's Italian. Name is Paul, from Boston. He runs a shady business, totally underground, it's a good operation. But more importantly, he's rich."
"What the hell does an Italian living in Boston want?"
Sully paused for a moment, trying to formulate a counterargument for Drake's inevitable objections. "He needs a violin."
Drake laughed coldly. "You want me to leave and break the law again for a stupid violin?"
Understanding Drake's incredulity, Sully put the cigar back into his mouth and smoked deeply. "It'll pay your bail, Nate. That's all that matters."
"Christ, Sully. The things you make me do," Drake mumbled, rubbing his temple with his hands. Unhappy but desperate, he accepted.
Sully leaned back, satisfied. "And it ain't just a 'stupid violin', Nate. It was Mozart's."