We park the U-Haul in a slot at a hot-dog drive-in and order sodas from a cutie on skates. Neither of us has an appetite. She brings the drinks and Partner rolls up the window, by hand, the old-fashioned way. He takes a long sip, and staring straight ahead says, “No way, Boss. I made myself real clear. Scare ’em but don’t touch ’em. Nobody gets hurt.” “They’re not in pain,” I say. “But, Boss, you gotta understand how things work in the gutter. Say Miguel and his boys track down Tubby and Razor and manage to create a confrontation. They make threats, but let’s say Tubby and Razor are not bothered by threats. Hell, they’ve been making ’em for thirty years. They don’t appreciate the intrusion and let it be known. Miguel has to stand his ground. Words get heated, more threats are made, and at some point things get outta hand. Takes just one punch to start a brawl and before long somebody pulls a gun or a knife.” “I want you to talk to Miguel.” “Why? He’ll never admit it, Boss.
