Some sort of private eyes?

↓ Transcript
Count Morté:
This is bullshit.

Riccardo::
What, the job, or about our employer.

Count Morté:
Both, We’re alpha predators. Not house-sitters.

Riccardo:
Speaking of sitting, your thrall is taking her own sweet time.

Count Morté:
Don’t you worry about her. I’ve broken her of attempting to run off.

Riccardo:
She’s scared of her own shadow..More trouble than she’s worth. You should just drain her dry and snap her neck, as a mercy.

Count Morté:
Remember New Orleans? That bitch has mortal friends.

My thrall is my “day shift.” She’s more valuable to me than you are. And if you panic her, I just might stake you out to greet the sunrise.