"Three cigarettes? That's hardly a bet." As if magically summoned by the hint of gambling, Chester came up from behind Henry. He only looked at him for as long as it took to make sure they didn't collide; the older man was buried in a secondhand copy of the Samhain Revere, which a random pedestrian had just finished reading. Chester flipped through the newspaper, glancing at the headlines. Nothing in particular stood out. "You can bet real money it's going to be better. Sewage cleanup..." He shook his head. "I couldn't do that twice. Not cut out for the life of grime."
Chester folded the paper up and waved it about, offering it to any Beltane that would take it. "Anyway, look at this building. If something goes wrong with the plumbing, they can probably scrape together enough cash to hire a professional. So no sewage." Despite his easy demeanor, the card shark could not emphasize enough how much he had hated the group's previous job. The murkiness, the gushing, the slightest smell. It had been a wholly disturbing experience for the man, and he saw it as Henry's most recent low point. "I'm guessing it's more of a personal favor. Actually, I'm not just guessing, I'll wager a hot meal on it. Any takers?" He went down the line, pointing at the others one at a time with the paper.