You could see the tears in the kid’s eyes.

"Hang in there Joey. If you need anything give me a call."

"Thanks Uncle P, I will."

It was late and the sidewalk was deserted. The street was quiet and for once the air smelled clean.

A hand, attached to a huge man, reached out from an alley and pulled me in. He shoved me up against the wall and held me there with his left paw. Pointed in my face was a. 38 revolver.

"Hey Tommy, long time, no see", I said as I smiled to the giant.

Tommy Gunn, I kid you not, that's his real name, stood at six-four, maybe six-five. Only God knows what he weighed. Now that I think about it, the last time that I saw Tommy and his brother was at the Columbus Flea just this past Thursday. If my memory serves me correctly, the last thing that I remember is looking at antiques in the back of his van.

Son of a bitch. It was Tommy and that weasel brother of his, Machine, that knocked me out.

"I'm sorry, Pick. Got to do this… I always kind of liked ya. It ain't nothing personal, just business."

"Hey, Tommy… It don't get any more personal than this, pal. But that's okay, no worries" and I snapped my fingers.

Tommy looks me in the eye and gives me this queer look. He's thinking, 'Why in the hell did he just snap his fingers, I got a gun pointed at his head?’

Three seconds later he gets his answer. One hundred and twenty five pounds of pure muscle comes bounding down the sidewalk, leaps and pushes Mr. Gunn to the ground.

"Thanks, Kato, good boy."

Kato, in case I didn't mention it, is a security trained and very loyal German Shepherd. At the moment, Kato's mouth is wide open and strategically positioned around Tommy's throat.

I step forward and bear down on his right wrist with my foot. The hand holding the gun.

"It's him. He's one of them that done it boyo." Uncle Moe is right behind me.