“I never took his money. You know that, right?” “Whose money, Eliot?” “Capone’s. Sometimes he’d have one of his guys leave a thousand dollars on my desk. And I didn’t have any trouble turning it down. Because that . . . that shit was obvious. Right and wrong. Black and white. They mighta got me if they’d been a little more subtle about it.” “More shades of gray?” “Yeah. The thing is . . . I don’t know any man who has chosen the right who didn’t think it was worth it in the end. And I don’t know any man who has sold his soul who thought he got the better deal.” “Eliot . . . what do you need to
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