Just resurrected, the Mongolian Toplaner shook his head, "Grabbing them back to plant cotton wouldn't even get us a hundred draws."
A hundred draws would be something only for the old Africa hands, under the black flag, coming to North America through the triangular trade route.
The Haitians now, naturally, wouldn't cut it.
"What do you know?" Sword Saint sneered at the Mongolian Toplaner's shortsightedness.
"These guys have been here for so many years, don't you think they'd know the way into Dog Town? You follow me, guaranteed to complete the mission and rake in heaps of profits, alright."
"Ah, right, right, right. Last time you said the same thing, and ended up getting crushed by the subway as soon as you stepped out. We couldn't even find your body, the meat was too pulverized to pick up."
