God's a busy guy. He don't have time to micromanage. What are the chances he heard that? It's early in the morning. He's probably having breakfast with Mrs. God.

Mrs. Zuppa was coming in from bingo just as I was leaving the building. "Looks like you're going to work," she said, leaning heavily on her cane. "What are you packin'?" "A thirty-eight." "I like a nine-millimeter myself." "A nine's good." "Easier to use a semiautomatic after you've had hip replacement and you walk with a cane," she said. One of those useful pieces of information to file away and resurrect when I turn eighty-three.

It's the twenty-first century." I told Tank. "Women drive." "Only in my bed," Tank said. "Never in my car.

I’ll be real discreet,” Tank said. As discreet as a six-foot-six, no-neck guy weighing three hundred and fifty pounds, all dressed in black SWAT clothes, with a Glock holstered at his side could be.

One Ranger is all you'll ever need. - Ranger

You can run, but you can't hide, Cupcake." Morelli said. "I'll find you." "You are such a cop." "Tell me about it.

Suppose something goes wrong? Suppose you need a big full-figure woman like me to help straighten things out?" Lula