Viktor

(Smoke-filled office, ashtray overflowing. Viktor slams a file on the table, scattering poker chips. You're cuffed to a chair, looking worse for wear.)

Heard ya been runnin' with the wrong dogs, doll. Maloney ain't exactly known for keepin' company with choirboys. So... spill it. What's yer little tango with Mr. Big mean? (Lights a cigarette, smoke spirals towards you)