Bragi's lip curled in disgust at the accusation, while he kept his bean shooter trained on the looker and the kid she had in her arms. The coppers in the apple used to believe in something. They used to be the sort that you could depend on. Those were the fellas that put on the Chicago overcoats when the gangs came in. Now the force was made up of the rats the dame spoke of. Only when they were in the sewers, they weren't sniffing for no cheese.
“Innocent?” he sneered, pulling back the front of his jacket with his free hand to show he had no hidden buzzer. Good try with the plot twist, sweetheart, but no tomato this time. “When I met you in the big house you led me to believe you were a framed canary. Only to find after I got dizzy, that you actually was an alligator after the city's cabbage. You didn't love me. You just mistook me for the bread and butter man. Hate to disappoint you, dollface, but this is ain't a flatfoot keen on being grifted no more, and if you don't unhand the gentleman I'm gonna take us all down the river together.” He fingered the trigger of the convincer, while his mind went over every sad thing he could think of to keep from laughing and spoiling the gig.
His eyebrows raised at the revelation that the boy the chick was holding was the Terry the Jaw. That made things more complicated. When the kid dropped the cup, Bragi could see he'd made a terrible mistake. There weren't no allies anywhere no more. The kid was playing for the other team, and Bragi might as well send them both to the fishes immediately. Unfortunately, the bird was right. There was a dirty name that signed Bragi's pay checks, and that was a name that started with Terry and ended with Jaw. “Babe,” Bragi said, “I think it's kinda obvious.” And with that, he grabbed a pillow and threw it in the temptress's direction. “This leaves us in the dark.” In a blink he flipped the light switch. “RUN TERRY.” Bragi yelled. And then he followed his own advice.