Tommy looked at the ground. "Not if we whack him," he muttered under his breath.
I frowned. "Whack one of the highest end detectives in the city? I think all this killing is starting to go to your head."
"Or maybe it's going to my balls, Butch. You scared?" Tommy asked, smirking.
I flipped out my knife and sliced at the air. "Oh please, if he had tried to arrest us I could have slit his throat before he had time to pull out the cuffs."
Tommy's smirk vanished. "Now that's what I like to hear. So what do you think? Should we pull the family together?"
I said nothing for a moment. I wiped a layer of sweat from my forehead then wiped my hand on my pant leg. "Maybe."
Tommy folded his arms. "That's not an answer, Butch."
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette. "I've been dying for one of these," I said plaintively as I stuck it in my mouth. I flipped out a lighter and lit it. I took a long drag off the cigarette before finally saying, "I think we should just take care of him ourselves. We don't need to pull any of the other guys into it. But first, let's finish our previous task."
"Trashing the Caffarellis for all they're worth?"
"I was thinking a little more than zero, Tom."
Tommy laughed. He pulled out his sub-machine gun. "Let's go."