The briefcase felt heavier than it should have, Brak hefted it a few times and then set it on the ground and started fiddling with the locking mechanism. His large half-orc fingers carefully trying to spin just one dial of the code sequencer at a time.
Brak struggled for almost a minute while the man who had given him the briefcase, Tibault, just watched on with a little smile on his face.
“Ya know,” The well built black man said, “it mi’b’ easier t’ git inta if ya ‘ad da combination.”
“What is it?” Brak croaked, no sign of embarrassment evident on his cratered light-green face.
“Tha’ ain’t da deal, bradda” Tibault replied, he pointed at the comlink attached to his wrist, the wires of which were burrowed, root like, into his arm. “I be callin’ ye wit’ da code, once our ways be parted.”
“Alright, lets part so I can get paid already. I want to forget that drek storm of a job A.S.A.P.” Brak rumbled as he stood, holding the briefcase with his payment in his right hand.
“Fo’ sure, bradda.” Tibault grinned.