"Butch! We got trouble," Tommy called, his voice bouncing off of the cement bridge.
I turned. There was a black car heading our way. I looked over at Tommy, who was holding a large sub-machine gun. Good ol'e Tommy Gun. I shook away the thought and whispered, "Hide the gun!"
I fumbled around with my knife and then stuffed it into my jacket pocket. With a large heavy sigh I spun and leaned against the wall. The black car gleamed in the sun, and the door swung open.
Then he stepped out. The Enforcer. One of the greatest detectives in the city. Who knows why he was here, but whatever the case, this was trouble.
I nonchalantly pulled a cigarette out of my jacket pocket.
"Put it away," The Enforcer barked.
I squinted slightly then dropped the cigarette onto the ground.
Tommy spoke up. "What are you doing here?"
"What I'm doing is my business, and my business only," The Enforcer said, this time speaking a little calmer.
We gave him blank stares for a while, and he didn't appear to be doing anything.
"Who sent ya?" I asked.
The Enforcer didn't reply.
"Let's go Tommy," I said, spinning around. Then a hand grabbed my shoulder. I spun around and hit the hand away.
"Stay," The Enforcer said.
Tommy and I exchanged looks of worry. "What have we done wrong?" Tommy asked, eyeing the man carefully.
The Enforcer bent down and picked up my cigarette that was laying on the ground. He pulled out his own lighter and lit it. He put the cigarette to his lips and breathed in. Then he breathed out a puff of smoke. "You've been littering," he said with a smile.
An evil smile.