Inside the Mexican restaurant.
Drett didn't rush to leave, instead, he said, "The information you've provided isn't comprehensive enough."
Having pocketed the money, Rodriguez had no intention of giving it back, "If the information were more detailed, it wouldn't be this cheap."
You can obtain more detailed information," Drett said, smiling at him. "Right?"
Rodriguez, money secured, replied, "That's all I know."
Drett opened his briefcase and took out another stack of US Dollars, declaring flatly, "You have a way, don't you?"
Rodriguez wasn't stupid—he understood the kind of "way" Drett was implying, but the risk was too great. That man was Martin Davis after all, cozy with the LAPD and the type who could single-handedly take down over a dozen armed Russian spies.
His own brothers would be delivering themselves to Martin on a platter.
Drett nodded, "I understand."
He then reached into his briefcase and produced another stack of US Dollars, placing it alongside the first one.
