You express your concerns about the Job, but Señor does not take kindly to them. He glances towards the large wooden door that you had come through while fumbling his hand under his desktop. You shoot your eyes to the door on the right wall, and your hand to the big iron on your hip. There was no way that this was going to end well.
The deep, authoritative voice yells out in fluent Spanish, "Guardias! Le agarren! No le permitir dejar!" Two mercenaries, los sicarios, enter the room, both armed to the teeth with weapons. The inside of their vests were clearly lined with ammunition, the long sleeves of their shirts concealing daggers and knives. Each had a nine millimetre pistol loaded and aimed as they entered the room. The chances of beating one in a fight in the current situation are quite low, if existent at all.