They were crossing the living room when suits, semi-automatics and square faces appeared in front of them. Oh, great.
After the fifth punch of that big guy, Hopkins spitted some blood on the fine carpet. On the other couch, Richard Holt, the client, rested the glass of whiskey on the coffee table and gave him a curious smile.
"Moralez," Holt asked in a soft voice. Clark was about to get hit again, when Moralez's big fist stopped in the middle of the air. Holt thanked with a head gesture and turned his attention to Hopkins. "This will be very easy, Mr. Hopkins. Give me the necklace, and I'll free you and Ms. Clark from our... arrangement."
Hopkins didn't say a word, the false necklace burning in his back pocket. Richard Holt sighed and draw a pocket-knife from the interior of his expensive suit. Holt's bright eyes shone towards Clark before whispering to Hopkins, "Would you be more cooperative if you received an encouragement, Mr. Hopkins?"