Perhaps he should give Livius some merit, he does glance Wen Kexing's way once before he reaches in his pocket to produce a bit of parchment. He's still stupid enough to do so out in the open. No matter the type of establishment, one should always account for spies. Perhaps Wen Kexing has been playing his role of vapid entrepreneur well enough, or perhaps word has gotten around that he doesn't necessarily care about the legality of things ( though he thinks he's definitely got a reputation for being a bit of a hard ass when it comes to looking after the brothels ). Either way he's deemed not a threat as the list is handed over, the man's big meaty hand clasping Jacob by the shoulder.

You will stay for now, Livius tells him, Blood has been spilt. We'll celebrate.

Wen Kexing is fairly certain that's his cue, lazily snapping his fan shut. "Don't let me keep you. Ah, but Master Frye, my handkerchief if you please. A handsome man gave me that."

He flashes his teeth in a grin, ignoring the murmuring around him. It's hopefully enough of a distraction for some slight of hand, if they're both very clever.