Armand Roget left the hotel that night feeling a mix of pride, nerves, and guilt. On the one hand, he'd just made a small fortune from selling information to James Skinner, and on top of that, had managed to send some business to one of his associates. The associate, it should be said, was an asshole who'd burned him on a number of their past transactions, but in his line of work, it was better to let such things slide than risk making an enemy.