His big black sedan pulled up behind me moments later. He, Weasel, and Tiny got out and approached Lola's car. I stepped out and onto the sidewalk.

"She in the car?" Scar asked.

I nodded. "In the backseat," I said, pointing.

"Excellent. Boys?" He pointed his chin at the car and the two goons opened the door and lifted Sara out. Scar put two fingers to her throat to feel for a pulse and then stroked her cheek. For a moment he was just a relieved father, not the ruthless head of organized crime for the entire region. He nodded toward his sedan and the two goons carried Sara there and placed her in the back.

"Now," Scar said, smiling, "I believe we have some unfinished business." He reached inside his jacket pocket and for a moment I expected him to pull out a pistol. Instead, he held a manila envelope large enough to surround a thick wad of cash. He stepped toward me, holding it out for me to take. I relaxed and reached for it.

That's when he sucker-punched me in the gut. I doubled over, retching, unable to catch my breath. An uppercut had me seeing stars. I flopped over on my back and he kicked me in the crotch. I gagged. Then he dragged me over to the car by my collar and belt and slammed me headfirst into the door.

Right before everything went black, I heard him say, "That's for hurting my Sara, you worthless sonofabitch. Say hello to Jimmy Hoffa for me."