He strolled down the stairs, followed by a number of assassins.
When he was directly in front of Ymor he said: "I've come for
the tourist." ...
"One step more and you'll leave here with fewer eyeballs than
you came with," said the thiefmaster. "So sit down and have
a drink, Zlorf, and let's talk about this sensibly. _I_
thought we had an agreement. You don't rob -- I don't kill.
Not for payment, that is," he added after a pause.
Zlorf took the proffered beer.
"So?" he said. "I'll kill him. Then you rob him. Is he that
funny looking one over there?"
"Yes."
Zlorf stared at Twoflower, who grinned at him. He shrugged.
He seldom wasted time wondering why people wanted other people
dead. It was just a living.
"Who is your client, may I ask?" said Ymor.
Zlorf held up a hand. "Please!" he protested. "Professional
etiquette."
[ The Colour of Magic, by Terry Pratchett ]