“Man can't hire his own muscle?” Redding brushed past the door man and into Mancini's place.

Redding raised an eyebrow at the scene before him. Mancini wasn't his usual self, a sheen of sweat adding a gross glow to him as his eyes flitted about the room. He kept quiet, not able to control his lip curling in contempt at what was before him. “I'm here to see what you got for me.”

When Mancini nudged a limp body with the toe of his shoe, he shook his head. Under all the dirt and the grubby, ill-fitting clothes, he saw the curves of a woman, though over her head was a sack. He looked at Joel, knowing the man's reputation of hatred for slavers of any sense of the word, flashing a look that told him to calm down but he completely shared the feeling of unease and disgust at the sight. He looked at Mancini, “I can find my own girls, Mancini. What's special about this one?”