There was a startled response by someone just about to come through the door. A guy that fell nicely into the "Eastern European criminal" archetype down to the mismatched tracksuit and tennis shoes, cheap 90s style that the region had hung onto all the way into the depths of Russia.

Niko ducked back behind the counter in an effort to lead the guy the rest of the way in, put him within Liquid's grasp. There would always be some bitterness towards the Russian crime families, something he couldn't shake.

This was a great way to vent it.

"Took your fucking time!" he yells, raising the gun to get the next guy that came through. Liquid could have that jerk.