“Too bad about the chick,” Brian says.
“You’d rather, what,” Duane answers as they drive away, “she flashes those beautiful browns to a jury while she points at you?”
Not that there’s much chance of that.
They’ll chuck the gun into the ocean and the car they boosted down in Dago, so if the cops do the CSI tire-tread thing they’ll come up with some clueless beaner gangbangers.
Still, you don’t leave witnesses.
Not even ones you’d like to fuck.
“I’m just saying,” Brian mutters.
I’m just saying.