Say you're willing to work with him.

Suppressing your desire to strike him, you speak through clenched teeth.

"Get me out of this, and I can get you more money. I'm a highly trained mercenary, I have lots of employable skills."

You pause for a beat, before finishing the sentence.

"And if you don't, I'm going to kill you before the cops can arrest me. I believe this gives you a good reason to accept my offer."

He looks thoughtful for a moment, leaning on the side of his desk while slowly nodding. Taking his time. When a few seconds pass and you're about to just start running, he finally replies.

"I know a good deal when I hear one. Follow me."

He shuffles out of the room like he's got all the time in the world, leading you down the stairs into the underground level of the building, seemingly what was once an opening to a subway station. On your way through, a sign grabs your attention.

RED LIGHT STATION
HAND: $10
MOUTH: $15
ANAL: $30
PUSSY: $60
ALL NIGHT: $100
HOME SERVICE: $250
SEE DESK FOR OTHERS

The place is empty at this time of day, but the decor, the colors, the smell in the air, gives its purpose away. This is a brothel.

You stop him with a firm hand on his shoulder, calculated to be just slightly than the pressure required to crush the bones in his arm. He yelps in pain and staggers away, turning to face you with a confused expression.

"Are you fucking with me?"

He leans backwards against the wall, rubbing his injured shoulder.

"Do you want me to hide you from the cops? Far as I'm concerned, your choices are kill me, get arrested and stay in jail for the rest of your life, or work for me for one week. Being awful generous after ya squeezed me there."

Your blood is boiling.