arms dealer - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The arms dealer, the purveyor of death and horror, not the sanitised version of television screens, but the real genocides, the killing of entire families, smoked an expensive cigar. There was a dead quality to his eyes, as if the soul had long departed and left this zombie-man in his stead, a monster to do the bidding of the dark force. All he cared for were his luxuries and the dirty money that floated in electronic nothingness. Take away that loot, take away the gun, and all that's left is something so pathetic, something that gave up his heart long ago, that sold his soul for extra champagne and a private jet. He was psychopathic through and through, with all the charm they use to manipulate and threaten all at once.
Jerome leaned into his wireless a little closer, there was another genocide brewing in Eastern Europe. His insides tightened and he felt his anxiety flare. He had to do something, something big. Otherwise they'd be using someone else's guns and bullets. Profit down the drain. He buried his left fist into his right palm and twisted it around, wracking his mind for the right contact, someone to broker the deal. He picked up his phone and dialled Gregor. He was on the wrong side of the planet for this deal but he knew people who knew people. He was always a good place to start.
The best deals were the large ones carried out in smokey bars, but this client was different. He always ordered more weapons than anyone else by a magnitude of two or three, which Gordon aproved of, however his habit of wanting to inspect the goods in broad daylight in a Miami quay had him more than on edge. No amount of money was worth hard time. He'd have sent a minion in his stead if he thought he'd get away with it. Not with this guy though, Mr V had put out kill orders for far less. Gord adjusted his Saville Row suit and cricked his neck. This little charade was cutting into his gym time...