Mike had never felt more thankful about that. That there was silence. It gave him time to patch himself up, though the truth was that he'd shrugged all of this off the moment he walked into the door and saw Whistler there.

He was planning. Figuring things out, running ideas through his mind. Probabilities of things going right. How to save this or possibly even use it to his advantage. How to put the right fires up, or see if this gives him the angle on anyone. His brow is perpetually furrowed, mulling everything over.

He knows one of the Armenians Ahri looks after. Drug runner, not too unimportant he doesn't know anything, not too important so Ahri notices right away. Has him delivered to a sound-proof room the Graceland group sometimes detains people in--a former now deceased member's house who had a penchant for being the next recording artist.

They arrive at the fairly nice house,and Mike has stopped smoking completely, even tossing his packet of cigarettes away as he cracked his neck.

"You coming?" He asks, getting out. "Don't bother locking it, even, this won't take long at all."