“You know where this Lucifer Gonzales hangs out?”
“Sure.”
“Start there.”
I opened my mouth, but the pink taxi was in gear and off at speed before I could form a coherent sentence.
* * * *
Killigan was a man of few words and a lot of action. Our conversation en route to the slummy part of the city where Gonzales hung out was limited to a few questions about my guns. My twin Berettas are very special, unique in fact, made for me by the one time Italian master gunsmith, Francesco Barenzo. I didn’t give too much away, but Killigan seemed satisfied that they were the right stuff and that he could trust me in a dust up. I knew his style. Go in with all guns blazing, but this time he agreed to be more subtle. We needed to play these jokers carefully if we were going to drag the rotten boys w
