He glared at me. “Look at my leg,” he snapped as he tugged up his pant leg and showed me the dark, knotted mass of flesh that remained even after all the surgeries. “This is what happens when you mess around going after mobsters. And I was the lucky one, unlike my partner, who’s six feet deep and rotting in a pine box,” he snapped. “So when I say no, I mean no. Find a different way to make detective. I’m not helping you.”
