John deeply dislikes having had to shoot Dutch like that. Whether or not she's truly the Dutch he'd met is irrelevant, because she had worn the same face, carried the same name, but he had also been able to see she wasn't going to stop.

He can certainly respect that. When his time comes, he's sure he'll have to go down fighting, and he knows himself well enough to know he won't stop until he's dead. And he does what's necessary here without hesitation.

Laurent's next request doesn't surprise him much either and he says, "I'll be right there." Packing up the rifle doesn't take long and it's soon stowed in a simple duffle, one that won't draw attention, along with a first aid kit, which he knows will be needed. He's there in just a few minutes, giving one soft rap of his knuckles against the door before pushing it open and closing it again quickly behind him.

"How badly are you injured?" he asks, setting the bag down near the door. "Either of you." The body can wait.