Three million plus." Carmouchie pursed his lips and nodded. "I'll send out the call," he said. "I don't trust this fuckin mook so I'll get guns. Lots ...f guns." "I always thought there was something wrong with that Bumfelt," said Carbone, opening a desk drawer. "He grew up with the Saint. Same streets. Same fuckin crimes. I'm gonna put one in the back of his head myself." He jacked a round into a nine millimeter Beretta. Bumfelt finished cleaning his Sig, reassembling it, checking the arming. It was after midnight, I hadn’t seen any cunt pass by for over 30 minutes. I had just decided to go home and whack off, or maybe hire a guttersnipe. I decided that I’d have me one more smoke and then head out of here. I pulled the pack, packed it down, again, and took a smoke out and lit it. Dragging the noxious fumes deep into my lungs. I held it there, deep inside me a second or four, letting the nicotine do its thing. As I began to exhale, looking down the track, a woman came around the. More

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