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There was nothing for me to say—I don't do social work. —and the freak screams at her that he knows she's not really doing it and hangs up on her. And that's when she hit the fucking panic button—she believes this guy's really watching her. " I asked him. "You know these people, Burke. Even when we were in the joint, you were always watching the fucking skinners and the baby–rapers and all. Remember? " I remembered. I told the old man that I was going to get out of that joint someday and I'd be going back to the streets—if you walk around in the jungle, you have to know the animals.

Opening and closing my hand a couple of times so he'd get the message. The Cheech took off his dark glasses, hooked them over his dangling chains, acting like he was really thinking about not paying me—or acting like he was really thinking, I couldn't tell which. Then he decided. He handed over the envelope without another word, something still on his mind. I tossed it into the back seat, giving him something else to think about. I took my foot off the brake and the Plymouth started to roll forward.

The freak said nothing too. 38 from one pocket and the silencer tube from another. He watched as I carefully screwed them together, assembling a quiet killing machine. I made a gesture to Max and his hand vanished from the freak's neck. "You made a big mistake, Mark," I told him. The freak looked at me. He tried to talk but his Adam's apple kept bobbing into his voice box. " It took a while before he could speak. " "What do I want, Mark? I want you to leave people alone. I want you to stop threatening their kids.

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