"Oh my God,” some guy says.
We've been on to this Hollings guy for a while: distributing coke to “collectors” through the special order books. Not a bad gig, not bad at all. I mean, that car and that house, I'd like to see a bookstore manager get them on just a salary.
"I've got rights ... I've got rights, you sons of f*****g whores..."
Howie has his hand on the cuffs, behind the perp's back, and does the old crank trick which causes our man to cry out. Nobody could see what Howie did so we're all good.
All of a sudden we hear some sort of crash like something breaking and some guy is screaming up in front of the crowd ... isn't that the dude they had taking questions when we went in? Isn't he like some kind of writer or something? “Eh Howie, you see that?"
"Roger that. Probably angel
