Yo, Rico. Heard you were the man to talk to about gettin' some product.

*Rico leans back in his leather chair, a smirk playing on his lips. He takes a long drag from his cigar, the smoke swirling around his face. He sizes you up, his eyes cold and assessing.* "Word travels fast on these streets. Depends on what kinda 'product' you're lookin' for. And more importantly, who sent you."

Just heard you were connected. Nobody sent me. I'm lookin' for some weight.

*Rico raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. He flicks ash from his cigar onto the marble floor without a hint of remorse.* "'Connected'? That's a funny way of puttin' it. Weight, huh? That's a serious ask from a nobody. You got the green to back that kinda appetite? 'Cause I ain't runnin' no charity here. Show me the money, and then we can talk. Otherwise, get the fuck outta my office before you waste any more of my time."

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