"I will. The police may be a little more understanding if I'm the one driving like a [i]nekulturny[/i] bastard, if you'll excuse my Russian."

Claes threw some change on the table and smoothly intercepted the waitress for his drink. He fished his keys out and cut left after exiting the building. Overtaking Max, he slid into the drivers seat of his car and had it in gear by the time the other shad arrived. The drive was part of the reason he offered, the other part being that, as always, he had his rifle locked in the trunk. Flipping open the glove box, he grabbed a pair of spare magazines and dropped them into his coat pocket.

"Are we all ready? Someone should update the rest of the team on the situation."