Rizzo and Cornbread were sitting in the car, staring at the house. Cornbread racked his pistol. “Let"s get it on.”
“This is Oklahoma,” said Rizzo. “You can"t go walkin" around with your gun out. These fuckin" hillbillies carry guns, sure, but they ain"t packin" glocks with silencers. They got shotguns and s**t. Muskets maybe. But not Glocks with silencers. You can"t go runnin" around lookin" like Tommy fuckin" Rambo.”
“I don"t think Rambo"s name was Tommy.”
Rizzo stared at him. “What do you know, you c**k-eyed f**k?”
“That ain"t right. You ain"t supposed to talk about a man"s eyes.”
“Says who?”
“It"s a birth defect, Rizz.”
“I wish you"d died at birth, you dumb bastard.”
“You keep talkin" like that, I"m gonna put somethin" in your mouth.”
This was music to Rizzo"s ears. He loved co
