He's about to make an offer that they couldn't refuse

Sleuth Diplomacy

here's how it's going down, see?
You give us the money or we pump you full of lead.

As we pulled up in front of the old plantation house, Max let up on the gas, allowing the Model A to slowly coast in front of its turn of the century columns.

Why the hell did this place have columns?

I put the thought out of my head as I pulled the slide on the Thompson on my lap. We had a job to do: Leviticus Sutherland had given the boss the high hat. No one gives the boss the old high hat. We came full stop in front of those gaudy columns. I stepped out, lighting up a quick smoke while Max checked his weapon.

I could hear some vinyl playing on the other side of the window pane. Must have been Danny Boy or some shit like that. Never been one for that treacle. Max looked up and gave me the nod, and a few seconds later the drums of our 45s drowned out whatever other bullshit he was planning on putting on the turntable. Glass shattered, wood splintered, and blood spilled.

As we headed back to the car, I took a look at my handiwork on those columns.

Plaster. Of course.